


Chuck Versus What Happens In Vegas—Part Two (Chuck 6.02)

by anthropocene



Series: Chuck Season 6 [2]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, Espionage, F/M, Romance, Science Fiction, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthropocene/pseuds/anthropocene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-series Chuck story—and the second episode of an imaginary Season 6 of "Chuck."<br/>As a reunited Chuck and Sarah begin to rebuild their life together, their C.I. firm is contracted by the CIA for a mysterious high-tech project near Las Vegas. With Morgan, Alex, and unexpected guests—it's a second honeymoon in Sin City, and a Dam crazy cyber-caper with major implications for Chuck and Sarah's future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a SOUNDTRACK for this episode (as in the actual series). Music cues are embedded in the text, and you can listen while you read! The soundtrack is available on 8tracks dot com; just search on the tag “anthropocene.” You can also find a direct link to the soundtrack on my author Bio page.
> 
> I appreciate hearing from my readers at any time...whether you liked the story or not, or have comments or questions. Even just a few words are always welcome. This is the only compensation a FF author ever gets. So please send me a comment via the box at the end of each chapter...and THANK YOU!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but I'm open to offers to write the screenplay for the movie. I'm totally kidding. No, wait.

**Fifth day, early morning, the La Plata Linda Hotel**

Ellie—trembling slightly and biting her lower lip—glances back at her mom for reassurance, then knocks firmly on the door to the honeymoon suite.

After a few seconds, they hear a faint cry of surprise from inside, and Sarah opens the door.

 _"Ellie—Mary?_ We didn't expect—umm, uh—quick, you should come in..."

"H-hi," Sarah continues, after Ellie and Mary follow her inside. "Chuck didn't say you were actually coming here. Chuck's still in the shower. It's so early—umm—can I get you both some coffee or something...?"

Ellie pauses in the entranceway, taking in Sarah's appearance: casual in a powder-blue sweatsuit like the ones she used to wear at home, with her rings prominently back on her hand, and—beneath a little nervous unease at the unanticipated visit—a look of calm assurance in her eyes, worlds away from the confusion and fury Ellie last saw in them.

And…Sarah's _smiling_ at both of them—timidly, but smiling nonetheless...

Ellie's eyes begin to tear. "It _is_ really you, isn't it?" she softly asks.

Sarah nods—and Ellie leaps to embrace her. They hold on tightly, rocking side-to-side and crying into each other's shoulder, as Mary looks on with delight. Then in rushes Chuck, clad in one of the white bathrobes from the hotel.

"What's going on— _Sis! Mom?_ What are you two doing here? I told you to overnight the package!"

Ellie and Sarah let go of each other, and Ellie turns to Chuck, sniffling and wiping her eyes with her fingers.

"And you really thought I'd do that?" she asks him. "Oh, Chuck, I had to come see my sister-in-law—I just _had_ to see her. You said you were together, so I...we...well anyway, we've been on the road since way before dawn—"

"I'm very glad you both came," says Sarah, red-eyed and sniffling too.

"But what about Devon and baby Clara?" Chuck asks.

"They're fine," says Mary. "They're in a secure and comfortable location across town."

"And you two got up here without being spotted? How'd you get access to the private elevator?"

"I'm _retired_ , dear," Mary gently scolds. "Not doddering."

Chuck throws up his hands. "Okay, okay, okay. Sarah's right—it _is_ nice to see you both."

Group hugs and kisses and a few more tears ensue; then Ellie takes a small corrugated cardboard box from her purse and hands it to Chuck.

"Here's what you wanted," she says. "I'm _so_ glad I decided not to pack it up with all my professional things, because by now that moving van must be almost to Texas."

"Thank you, Sis. Baby, a little help if you would?" Chuck holds the box out to Sarah, who—in the span of three seconds—produces a folding knife from her sweatsuit pocket, flips it open and deftly slices off the top of the box, then closes the knife and tucks it away again.

Chuck throws an air kiss at his wife, then reaches into the box and removes a disc-shaped electronic device, about the size of two stacked roulette chips, encased in an anti-static bag. He holds it up for everyone to see.

"The _Key_...Dad's last remaining invention. I just couldn't leave it behind on the roof at the concert hall. I thought maybe Ellie could figure out something worthwhile to do with it after she got her lab set up in Chicago."

"So why do you want it back now, Chuck?" his sister asks. Before he can respond, she adds, "I'm probably not going to like the answer, am I?"

"Let's talk about it, Sis. Now that you're here I'll be glad to have your help. I'll have coffee and breakfast brought in, and we'll text Morgan and Alex to come up and join us."

Chuck steps away to call room service and go get dressed, while Sarah leads Ellie over to the dining area. Mary follows them, looking around the place with great amusement.

"So—you two are staying in the honeymoon suite," she observes. "Was that intentional?"

"More or less," replies Sarah with a wink.

* * *

**About an hour later**

"I was right," Ellie says. "I _don't_ like this."

Team Carmichael, plus two, lingers in the dinette after breakfast, finishing off their coffees, as Chuck explains his plan to his extremely skeptical neurologist sister.

"It'll work," Chuck insists, as he gently holds the Key in its bag between his thumb and forefinger. "I can use the Intersect to restore Deep Skillet. But I need the Key to translate. It's the only input-output device of its kind, which means the malware won't recognize it for what it is, and I'll be in, easy-peasy."

"But that means linking your brain to computers infected with who-knows-what," Ellie fires back.

"It's not like I'll be _wired_ to 'em, Sis—it's just an optical link I can break at any instant. And I'll actually be in there only a second—probably less. I just need for the Intersect to isolate the specific chunk of code that turns the malware off."

Ellie shakes her head and looks hopefully at Sarah. "What do you think about it, Sarah? I mean...with what you just went through...?"

Sarah takes hold of her husband's arm atop the table. "We talked about it. We have to finish this job for the sake of our firm's reputation. I believe Chuck if he says he can do this—and I'll be right there watching over him, just in case."

"The Intersect's different with Chuck," says Morgan. He takes hold of Chuck's other arm, but Chuck gives him a funny look and yanks it away. "You know that, Ellie. He always figures out how to fix things with it. I mean, just last night he sure fixed my screwup down there in the casino."

Ellie knows she's losing the argument, but she has one more card to play.

"Well, what about the fact that you want to take Dad's one and only Key into harm's way? Sounds pretty risky to me."

"Got a plan for that too, Sis. Actually it's Sarah's idea. And, Morgan, it starts with you going out and picking up three new iPhones. I need three, all identical. Pay with cash. And please make sure nobody follows you closely enough to find out what you're buying."

Chuck reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bulky roll of bills. Morgan takes them and gives his friend a mock salute.

"By your command, boss. Vegas Buy More, here I come!"

"And don't forget to bring back the receipt," Chuck adds.

"I'm coming with," says Alex. "He can always use another good pair of eyes."

Mary looks at Ellie and Sarah, then gets up. "Me too. I'd like to get a little midmorning sun."

Chuck holds the Key up to the light. "Meanwhile, my task is to figure out how this little puppy is put together, in case I should need to build another one. Can't be too difficult—I am a Bartowski after all."

Morgan fetches the keys to the Ford Expedition, and Alex and Mary follow him out to the elevator. Sarah and Ellie clear away the breakfast dishes as Chuck brings over several of the C. I. equipment cases, and starts converting the dining table into a makeshift workbench for his reverse engineering of the Key.

Ellie puts a hand on Sarah's shoulder and says, "He doesn't need any distractions, so why don't we go sit and catch up for a while?"

"That works for me," replies Sarah. She refills their coffee mugs as Ellie slides two chairs together in front of the panoramic windows.

"Wow—this is really spectacular!" Ellie soaks up the view of the city, the serrated mountains surrounding it, and the cloudless blue curve of the desert sky.

"Isn't it? Chuck and I find ourselves drawn over here most of the time we're in the suite."

Ellie smiles, having noticed that the big luxurious bed also faces the windows. Then she puts down her coffee mug and puts on a more serious expression.

"Sarah," she begins, "can I talk with you as a doctor rather than a sister for a few minutes?"

"Of course. I figured you had something like that in mind."

"Mostly I just wanted to know how you are doing, and what's happened since last week."

"I'm not completely sure," replies Sarah. "When I last saw you, down in Castle, by that time I knew who I was, who I'd been—but I couldn't accept it, because I just couldn't _feel_ it. All I felt was this burning anger toward Quinn."

"That's understandable," Ellie says.

"And when the first few memories of my life with Chuck were returning...well, that only confused me more, because I couldn't remember any context. It just seemed like they'd been planted in my mind..."

Sarah shakes her head and winces at the recollection. "And poor Chuck was right there with me that entire time, trying to help me—you _all_ were trying—but I couldn't—"

"It's okay, Sarah," Ellie reassures her. "It was a terrible trauma. You simply weren't _you_. But then...what was it that brought you back?"

"I think after we defeated Quinn, and the team split up, all the anger just drained out of me, like adrenaline. All that was left was the confusion. And that's when Chuck got through to me…."

Sarah's eyes brighten, and her voice grows more excited.

"He found me. He asked me to trust him, and I finally had the courage to let him tell me about us...our story. And then it was like a wall coming down inside, Ellie. All of a sudden I _felt_ Chuck's love for me—and _mine_ for him. So I asked him to take me back, and..."

"Take you _back!"_ Ellie snorts, then reaches over to hug Sarah. "Chuck would do better without oxygen than without you!"

"He's _never_ going to have to worry about that again," Sarah says firmly. "We're going to rebuild our life together. Just as it was."

Ellie clasps her hands together happily. "And...your memories of that life?"

"Definitely improving, but there are still plenty of gaps."

"There's no quick fix for dissociative amnesia," replies Ellie. "But the good news is, based on what we learned from Morgan's bout with the buggy Intersect, there's probably no residual injury to your brain. You just need time and plenty of positive emotional support. The more intensely emotional the trigger, the better it'll probably be at stimulating recall."

"We've noticed that," Sarah says, smiling serenely.

Ellie chuckles. "On the other hand, I wouldn't have recommended that you two head right out on another mission like you did."

"That was _my_ choice. Chuck didn't push me into this. And actually, the job has been mostly fun so far—almost a working honeymoon, like Mary thought."

"That's fine, then, I suppose. But Sarah, I can't say when—or _if_ — you'll get all of your memories back. You're doing really well and hopefully that'll continue. It's quite possible that you won't ever remember the worst of the trauma that you went through. Probably for the best."

Sarah nods in understanding, and asks, "The prognosis is pretty good, though?"

"Well," Ellie replies, "I'm reminded of this one psych professor I had in med school. He was fond of a particular quote and recited it all the time. As I recall, it went kind of like this: _'The self isn't something one finds—it is something one creates.'_ "

"I like that, Ellie. And I want to thank you for everything you did to look after Chuck and to help me when I...well, as you put it, when I wasn't myself—"

"Sarah, hush, you're family! One thing you _do_ have to promise me, though. Come to Chicago after you finish this job. Just for a few routine tests. I'd like to be able to give you a clean bill of health once and for all. And if that's not enough of a reason, there's always deep-dish pizza!"

"You've got yourself a deal," says Sarah, beaming at Ellie.

* * *

**A short time later, across town**

As Chuck had feared might happen, Morgan, Alex, and Mary in the pale-grey Ford Expedition picked up a tail right out of the hotel driveway: a white sedan. Morgan first tried to lose it in the traffic lights on the Strip, and then tried to outrun it on the freeway west out of downtown—all to no avail.

"It _just_ keeps catching up," groans Alex, vainly straining to glimpse the driver of the sedan as it maddeningly keeps pace in the traffic, always two or three cars behind them. "Are you sure we're not bugged?"

"I swept the whole vehicle," Morgan replies. "Twice. We're clean."

"The CIA could be guiding them with a drone or even a satellite," Mary calmly observes.

"Should we abort then?" asks Alex.

"Can't do that," Morgan replies. "Chuck's depending on us."

"We'll just have to lose them in the mall," Mary says.

About a quarter hour's drive from the Strip, Morgan pulls the Expedition off the freeway at the entrance to the sprawling suburban Best Western Mall. The white sedan follows them into the parking lot. A Buy More store anchors the south end of the mall and a Large Mart sits at the opposite end. A prominent archway entrance at the center of the complex is festooned with the colorful logos of various fast-food chains.

"There—we'll go in at the food court," Mary instructs. "Park as close as you can, Morgan."

"You got it, Mama B." As Morgan heads down a lane leading toward the middle of the mall, Alex keeps watch on their tail in the rear-view mirror. Morgan spots an open parking space close to the entrance and quickly pulls in. The white sedan, just entering their lane at the far end, slows almost to a stop.

"That means they don't know if they've been made," says Mary. "That's good. Let's all go inside as if nothing's amiss, and hopefully get a closer look at whoever's been following us."

As the three of them exit the SUV and start walking along the lane toward the mall, the white sedan picks up a little speed and draws closer to them. Alex suddenly pauses and bends down as if to tighten her shoelaces, glancing at the oncoming sedan as she does.

 _"There's just the driver,"_ she reports, just above a whisper _. "Female. Short brown hair."_

"Good," says Mary. They reach the mall entrance and pass through the tinted glass doors, then turn around to see the white sedan pull into a space nearby. The brunette agent emerges and hustles toward the doors. Morgan, Alex, and Mary continue on into the food court, which is humming with the late-morning breakfast crowd.

"She looks agile," Mary says. "I don't think we'll outrun her in here without tipping our hand. We need some kind of diversion."

"Time for the _magnet?"_ asks Morgan. He tugs on the brown-and-white windbreaker he's wearing. "Now I'm really glad I thought to change clothes before we left."

"Who wants espresso?" Alex asks, and leads her teammates to the coffee bar. They buy coffees and sit down around a table close to the men's and women's restrooms. Mary keeps a practiced spy eye on the brunette agent as she takes an empty table toward the center of the food court: discreetly distant, but with a clear view of her marks. The agent brings out a smartphone and pretends to look busy with it.

Morgan and Alex, sipping coffee, chattering and gesturing for show, have their eyes trained on the men's restroom. They're waiting for something—and they don't have to wait very long. A man with black hair and a close-cropped beard, reasonably similar to Morgan in size and build, approaches them from the Buy More side of the mall and enters the men's restroom. The brunette agent, focused on her three targets, doesn't see it—although she definitely notices when Morgan leaves the table a moment later and heads into the men's room himself.

Inside the restroom, Morgan spots his almost-double washing his hands and face at a sink. He gives the man a casual nod before locking himself in one of the stalls and unzipping his windbreaker. Beneath it, Morgan is wearing one of his kelly green Buy More work shirts.

Meanwhile, Alex and Mary drain the last of their coffees and walk over to the men's room door, where they stand looking as if they are impatient for Morgan to reappear. The brunette agent continues to dawdle with her smartphone while watching Alex and Mary out of the corner of her eye.

Without warning, the almost-Morgan—the _magnet_ —emerges from the restroom and starts toward the Large Mart end of the mall. Alex and Mary fall in with him as if he's the real Morgan; Alex pulls up alongside him and Mary follows a half-step behind them both, so that the brunette agent can't get a good look at the man.

The agent pockets her phone and starts in pursuit.

The magnet, oblivious at first, eventually notices that there happens to be a strange but very attractive young woman walking right by his side as he makes his way through the mall crowd.

"Hi," he says to her. Alex smiles shyly at him but says nothing. The magnet begins to walk a little bit faster, and Alex also picks up her pace to stay with him.

"Do I know you?" the magnet asks, now looking baffled but somewhat pleased by this unknown pretty lady's apparent interest in him.

"Nope," replies Alex, still smiling.

"Okay. Well, you have a good day." He speeds up again...and so does Alex.

Directly behind him, Mary senses that the magnet is getting spooked and could duck into a store or another restroom at any moment. She checks a reflection in the window of a sporting-goods store to confirm that the brunette agent is still following them, as they all get farther and farther from the Buy More. Mary reaches into her purse, finds her iPhone, and taps on the screen, sending Morgan a single-word text: _GO._

Morgan, in his green shirt with the brown-and-white windbreaker clutched in his fist, darts out of the men's room, across the food court, and back out to the parking lot. He slows to a brisk walking pace and continues around the perimeter of the mall to the Buy More, then around the back to the loading dock. There, a cluster of employees in the same green shirts is lackadaisically off-loading a shipment of big boxed appliances from a truck. None of them gives Morgan any notice as he enters the back of the store and makes his way to the employees' lounge.

He begins to put the windbreaker back on, intending to sneak out to the sales floor in the guise of an ordinary customer.

 _"Morgan?_ Morgan Grimes, is that you?"

Morgan whirls around and finds himself face-to-face with a familiar figure from Burbank: chubby, rosy-cheeked, with oval wire-rims and curly dark hair. But instead of the usual green Buy More shirt, he's wearing a tie and a grey vest over a pale yellow dress shirt.

_"Fernando?"_

"Did you apply for a job here too? Hey! Look at this, man!" Fernando points proudly to the badge on his vest: ASSISTANT MANAGER.

"Hey, wow!" exclaims Morgan, still a bit stunned. "So you're Ass-Man here now, Fernando? No, I'm not here for a job...I'm just...so why'd you come to Vegas?"

Fernando shrugs. "Why not? New owners in Burbank and you guys all left. Didn't think it would be fun there any more. I heard there was an opening here, so I faxed in an application—and _here I am!"_

Morgan enthusiastically shakes his former associate's hand. "That's really great, man! I'm happy for you. But what about your sidekick Skip?"

"He'll be here by tomorrow. I just hired him for the Herd."

Then Fernando drops Morgan's hand and looks at him suspiciously. "So what are you doing here and in that green shirt? I thought you quit the Buy Morons for real."

Morgan puts his arm around Fernando's shoulder. "It's a long story and I don't have much time to explain. I'm just passing through town. I've gotta buy some iPhones and...well, I thought maybe with this shirt I could still get the employee discount."

He looks down at the floor in feigned embarrassment. Fernando laughs.

"No problem! C'mon, I'll help you myself," he says. "And sure, I'll give you the discount. Least I can do for my old boss."

"Hey, thanks, man," replies Morgan, sounding relieved, as he finishes putting on the windbreaker and follows Fernando to the Nerd Herd counter. "And one more big favor—don't let anyone know I was here. The phones are supposed to be a surprise..."

...Ten minutes later, with the three iPhones secured in a Buy More shopping bag, Morgan slips back out through the loading dock just as Alex and Mary pull up in the Expedition. Morgan jumps into the passenger seat and fist-bumps his girlfriend as she steers them back to the freeway.

"Way to go Team Carmichael!" he shouts. "What happened to our tail?"

"I think she's still wandering around the Large Mart," Mary answers with eyes twinkling.

"Yeah," adds Alex. "Would you believe the magnet walked with me _all the way there?_ He even asked me out and I got his number. I mean—he was really cute, with that beard and all..."

She allows Morgan a full five seconds to blubber before she adds, "I'm so kidding."

* * *

**Twenty minutes later, in the honeymoon suite at the La Plata Linda**

_(Music: "Modern Man," by Arcade Fire)_

With his whole team looking on, Chuck lays the three new iPhones out on his dinette-table workbench, amidst scattered tools and parts and an open laptop that is scrolling through seemingly endless lines of code and strange sequences of images.

"Perfect," he says. "Now...eenie...meanie...miney... _mo!"_

He picks up one of the phones, turns it over, and removes the back cover with a small pentalobe screwdriver.

"Hmmm...let's see," he continues, inspecting the components inside. "Gotta reconfigure the Key to squeeze it in here...take the camera out to make some room...maybe a smaller battery...I can make it work."

"Clever," says Ellie, looking over his shoulder. "I was wondering what you were going to use for an interface, since your last pair of Intersect glasses got fried by your upload."

"Just as well," Chuck replies. "We try to sneak a pair of VR glasses past Saldana and the jig'll definitely be up. But she won't look twice at a phone since she knows we can't call in or out of Deep Skillet. And I know this will work, because Mom once used a smartphone on me to suppress the Intersect."

Mary, sitting at the table on his right side, sighs.

"And you're _never_ going to let me forget that, are you, dear?"

Chuck turns and gives his mother a peck on the cheek. "Well, Mom, if you hadn't done it, maybe I wouldn't have come up with this crazy idea...so thank you for that."

Ellie takes a seat on the other side of the table and turns the laptop around to face her.

"While you're working on the hardware," she says, focusing on the screen, "let me have a look at your software. These neural encoding paths look just a bit laborious, kind of like Dad's original programming. There's a way to make them run a lot smoother and faster and save you a big headache—maybe literally!"

She puts her fingers to the keyboard and starts right in, as Chuck laughs.

"Like I said before, Sis—glad to have your help!"

* * *

**An hour and a half later**

The iPhones have all been retrofitted and Ellie has finished her upgrade of the Intersect software. Chuck, still seated at the table, connects one of the iPhones to his laptop, places the phone down in front of him with the screen up, and leans back in his chair.

Sarah, standing behind him, puts her hands on his shoulders and gives him a squeeze.

"So are you ready to test it?" she asks him.

"Guess so. What do you think, Ellie?"

"I _still_ think this whole plan is absolutely nuts. But yes, the system's ready."

"Let's do it then. But baby, I don't think you should be standing so close."

Sarah, Morgan, Alex, and Mary move to the far side of the dinette table. Chuck cracks his knuckles and looks down at his iPhone.

"I'm going to hack into the hotel ops intranet and upload the status report on building functions," he tells them. "That's a block of data about the same size as what I'll need to handle in Deep Skillet. And I've already hacked in via the conventional route, so I know what I'll find—except that the Intersect, working through the Key, should make this happen a whole lot faster."

He picks up the iPhone, flashes on it, and starts thumbing out a text at uncanny speed.

"Jeez—wonder what's the record for text messaging," Morgan mutters.

"5.2 characters a second," Chuck replies while continuing to text. "I'm doin' near eight right now."

Sarah elbows Morgan. _"Shhh!"_ she whispers. " _Don't distract him!"_

Chuck abruptly stops texting, and receives his response in the form of a rapid barrage of encoded images flashing across the iPhone screen. He gazes at the screen and takes in the information as the others watch with fascination—except Sarah, who grimaces and averts her eyes. Morgan is the only one who notices.

The iPhone screen goes dark. Chuck blinks, flashes again—then stands up, shakily, but grinning.

"It worked! Guys, it _worked!_ The Key slipped me right through the firewall like there wasn't one there! I just interrogated the hotel ops computer and uploaded all the building vitals. Like, for example...the thermostat in this suite is currently at 73 degrees."

Morgan locates the climate-control panel on the wall and goes over to check it. "Right you are, buddy. Of course, that could have been just a good guess."

"Then how about _this?"_ asks Chuck. "The Brazilian TV contingent is just now checking out and headed to the airport. Three big, blue luxury buses should be pulling into the hotel driveway right...about... _now."_

Mary and Alex, standing close by the windows, look down.

"Yes—I see them!" says Alex.

"I could even tell you their license plate numbers," Chuck adds with assurance.

"Now you're just showin' off," Morgan retorts.

Ellie is wide-eyed. "It really _worked_ —you just read and learned something directly from a computer at machine speed! Chuck—oh my God—you _did it!"_

 _"We_ did it, Sis—Dad, you, _and_ me," Chuck corrects her. "We're on the trail Dad blazed, to turn the Intersect from a weapon back into a tool for teaching and learning. But there's a long way to go yet. One mission at a time."

Mary comes over to Chuck and hugs him. "This might just have changed your father's mind about wanting to destroy his invention."

"I wanted to destroy it too," Chuck says. "All I could think of was the misery that the Intersect has caused our family. But then again, some very good things also came of it."

He smiles at Sarah, who is still standing where she was on the other side of the table. She smiles back at him, but wanly—unmistakably troubled by something. Chuck goes to her and tenderly puts his arm around her.

 _"It's okay,"_ she whispers in his ear. _"Talk when we're alone."_

"Maybe the solution all along wasn't to _destroy_ the Intersect," Ellie observes. "Maybe we just need to _domesticate_ it. Chuck—whatever you do in that Skillet place, wherever it is—don't you _dare_ lose control of the Key!"

"Yes," says Mary. "The future of the Intersect must remain the charge of _our_ family."

"I think we're all in agreement on that," Chuck says.

"So what now?" asks Morgan.

"Carmichael Industries has a job to complete. Morgan and Alex—the drill's the same as the other night: get some rest, meet for dinner, ready to roll. Ellie, Mom—we truly appreciate your help. You'll both be getting a stipend for consulting after we wrap this up."

Ellie laughs out loud. Chuck pretends to look hurt.

"I'm _serious_ , Sis! Business is business. But family's also family, and so now I'm asking you and Mom to go pick up Devon and Clara from wherever you've hidden them, and get back on the road. Promise me you'll do that? This isn't a spy mission, but why take chances?"

Ellie hugs her brother. "You're aces, Charles. Please be careful."

 _"That_ didn't sound like a promise to me," Chuck groans.

* * *

**Half an hour later**

Chuck and Sarah are alone at last and back on their favorite heart-shaped couch.

"So...what happened when I was doing the upload?" he asks her gently. "I saw you were upset, and Morgan confirmed it."

Sarah sighs. "Another memory. Really vague—but I remembered pain. It's over now."

Chuck holds her and kisses her forehead. "Are you going to be all right tonight, babe? It'll be just the two of us down there."

Sarah looks deeply into his eyes. "Absolutely. I'm going to be fine, Chuck. Better than fine. I will never let you down, and I'll never let anyone or anything hurt you."

"I know that," Chuck says fervently. "But still, I can't stand even the thought of causing you any pain."

He begins to kiss the back of her neck and shoulders.

"Is there anything ( _kiss_ ) I can do ( _kiss_ ) to make you feel ( _kiss_ ) any better...?"

 _"Mmmm_...I think you're on the right track," Sarah murmurs.

* * *

**That evening, on the La Plata Linda roof**

Special Agent Saldana greets Chuck and Sarah with handshakes as they step out of the elevator in their business attire and carrying their briefcases. Behind her, the Bureau of Reclamation helicopter awaits. Seeing that his passengers have arrived, the pilot starts the engine.

 _"We are all rebuilt and ready for you!"_ Saldana shouts over the mounting roar. _"And you for us—I hope!"_

Chuck gives her a thumbs-up. He takes a step toward the helicopter, but Sarah suddenly grabs his arm and, with a look of disgust on her face, aggressively brushes at his back.

_"What is it, babe?"_

_"Sorry!"_ Sarah yells. _"Beetle landed on you! I don't know—for some reason lately insects are really creeping me out!"_

Saldana, with her back turned to Chuck and Sarah but close enough to hear them, frowns darkly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, of course, but I'm enjoying the opportunity to tinker with his and Sarah's future a bit.

**Fifth day, late night, down below Hoover Dam and on into Deep Skillet**

Exactly as she did before, Agent Saldana escorts Chuck and Sarah to the secret elevator hidden in the Hoover Dam powerhouse, then down to the abandoned tunnel and on through the noisy watertight doors. The Bartowskis walk together through the tunnel a pace or two behind their client: carefully scanning their surroundings, but demurely holding hands.

"You look a teeny bit tired, sweetie," Sarah murmurs in her husband's ear. "What, not enough nap before dinner?"

"Well...you didn't really give me a whole lot of time to actually _nap,"_ Chuck replies. "But I'm fine—better than fine, actually."

_"That's_ for sure." Sarah squeezes his hand tighter.

At the entrance to Deep Skillet, the familiar guard again meticulously checks their identification, issues them their visitor's badges, and allows them access to the main cyberdefense lab.

Once inside, Chuck and Sarah find that Saldana and her technicians have been busy. The BIOS chips disabled by the malware have all been extracted and sealed in bags. All of the dysfunctional monitors, keyboards, mice, and external drives have been replaced by clean, gleaming new equivalents, set in their proper places but powered down and disconnected from the infected central processing units. The cartons in which the peripherals were shipped have been neatly flattened and stacked against the wall.

Chuck strides cheerfully into the middle of the vast lab, looks around, and inhales deeply.

" _Ahhhh!_ I just _love_ that new-secret-base smell!"

The four young technicians, sitting wearily in their wrinkled and dingy white lab coats around the central conference table, amidst dozens of empty coffee cups and scattered _Subway®_ sandwich wrappers, respond with weak laughs and nods.

"And I take it you've installed clean BIOS firmware in all of the devices?" Chuck asks them.

"Yes, sir," replies one of the techs.

"You poor things are exhausted," says Sarah. "Juanita should let you go home and rest."

"In due time," Saldana counters. "Chuck might yet need some assistance from us in implementing his recovery operation."

"Actually," Chuck says, "I think we've got things pretty much in hand. But thanks anyway."

"What is your plan?" asks Saldana.

"I'll need physical access into the central processor," Chuck replies. "I'm counting on that two-second delay we saw between any input and the scrambling of BIOS and peripherals. Remember that? The delay was probably programmed in by the saboteur so as to be able to shut off the malware with a specific code fragment."

Chuck places his briefcase on the conference table and opens it, revealing a set of custom-built electronic devices.

"So...I'm going to split the input and output signals, and run the output through a converter and time-stretch processor—to lengthen that built-in delay just enough to sneak in a diagnostic program that'll identify and activate the kill code receptor." He closes the briefcase again.

"Really?" Saldana asks after a moment's consideration. "So you intend to apply a hardware-based fix to a software problem. Unorthodox, to say the least. Then again, the unorthodox has always been the standard for your team, no?"

"If you're aware of _that,_ Juanita," says Sarah, "then you also know that our team's record speaks for itself."

" _Sí._ But such a pity that _you,_ as well as I, would know this only from reviewing your mission logs. It must be very difficult for—"

"That's _enough,_ " Chuck growls.

Saldana goes silent, but flashes her familiar self-satisfied grin at them both.

"Whatever," Sarah replies—calmly and coolly, in spite of tightened fists and a sudden storminess in her eyes.

"While Chuck is setting up," she continues after a moment, "I'll complete the intel report on the malware attack per our agreed-upon scope of work. No doubt you will find it _very_ interesting reading... _Juanita."_

"Oh—no doubt," Saldana mimics, paying no heed to Sarah's quiet fury. "In the meantime, I can do nothing more exciting than to file paperwork for all of this lovely and costly new equipment. Please have one of my techs summon me when you are ready to begin your...ah... _experiment_."

"H'yeah, sure," mutters Chuck in an irritated tone. "But it'll be four, maybe five hours."

"All right. Just be mindful of the time and remember about sunup." Saldana turns to her technicians. "Provide any assistance that Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael require." Then she strides away, weaving around workstations and cubicles and out through a side door.

As soon as Saldana is gone from the room, Sarah and Chuck turn toward each other with equally concerned looks.

_"Don't let her get to you,"_ Chuck whispers to his wife.

_"I won't,"_ Sarah responds, _"and I was just about to say the same thing to you."_

That makes them both chuckle. Their anger at Saldana abruptly dissipated, they share a quick kiss and get to work. Sarah returns to the lone uninfected and functioning computer that she has been using for her forensic intel. Chuck follows right behind, carrying the two briefcases full of equipment over to the master system console, just a few steps from where Sarah is working.

"Excuse me," he calls out to the technicians as he begins to unpack tools and components. "Would one of you mind finding that satellite channel we were listening to last time?"

_(Music: "Watch Us Work It [Teddybears Mix]," by Devo)_

Chuck bends down to look at the processors and power supply for the master console, arranged on the floor directly beneath a bench that supports a semicircular bank of four monitor screens and two keyboards.

"Hmm, this is gonna be _real_ fun," he says, as he lowers himself to the floor and wedges his six-foot-four frame into the tight space under the bench with a few grunts and groans.

"Okay then—let's see...power supply, power supply..." Chuck says, in case anyone can hear him over the pulsing music. But out of sight underneath the bench, the first thing he actually does is surreptitiously connect a high-speed data cable—not a power cable—to the central processing units.

Meanwhile, Sarah works steadily at her final intel report, typing concise blocks of text and pasting in a myriad of images, tables, and links.

Concealed in an adjacent room, Saldana joins the mysterious wheelchair-bound Professor in front of a large flatscreen, to spy on Chuck and Sarah. Their view is from above, somewhere near the high suspended ceiling of the lab. The screen is split between one camera aimed at Chuck and one at Sarah. Saldana has her iPad on her lap, and occasionally taps it to change the viewing angle, or zoom in and out.

"It's difficult to see exactly what he's doing," notes the Professor, pointing at the image of Chuck's legs sticking awkwardly out from beneath the master console. "Can't you fly in any closer than this?"

"Sorry, sir. It would be too risky with Sarah right there. I have reason to suspect she has somehow retained a trace memory of her prior encounter with our Noctuidors."

The Professor shakes his head. "Now isn't that ironic."

_"De verdad._ So we must keep the devices out of her field of view. At least for now."

* * *

**At about the same time, just west of Hoover Dam**

The Ford Expedition idles at a drive-through convenience store on the edge of Boulder City, about three miles from the dam. The tracking device on the dashboard indicates that Chuck and Sarah have again disappeared into Deep Skillet—just as expected and right on schedule.

Morgan and Alex know that they have another long night's stakeout ahead of them.

"So...coffee and donuts again?" Morgan asks his girlfriend.

"Sounds good to me," replies Alex.

What neither of them knows is that they have been carrying a stowaway since they left the La Plata Linda: a silent figure in a black UNLV hoodie and facemask, hiding huddled under a blanket in the far back of the SUV, well-concealed by the night.

A friendly young server in the window hands them a carafe of coffee, two cups, and a box of donuts. Morgan pays him and then drives the Expedition back to their post: an unlit highway pullout on an upslope a mile from the dam and overlooking Lake Mead. The desert night is warm, starry, and fragrant with the first blooms of spring wildflowers and creosote bush. At first, Alex and Morgan roll down all the front and back windows to take in the fresh air, but they eventually give in to the temptation to turn up the volume on the tracking device, clamber out of the vehicle with their snacks, and sit on the front bumper.

This gives their passenger the ideal opportunity to slip stealthily out of the back window, sneak away into the brush, and circle back to the highway at some distance from the pullout. The stowaway walks briskly along the shoulder, downhill toward Hoover Dam.

* * *

**Sixth day, wee hours, in Deep Skillet**

_(Music continues: "Watch Us Work It [Teddybears Mix]," by Devo)_

Chuck needs the full five hours to finish his installation. He connects the monitors and keyboards for the master console to his improvised set of signal-modifying devices, and from there into the appropriate ports on the processing units. Then the computers are powered up and so are the peripherals—protected for the moment from infection by a cutoff switch on Chuck's contraption. Power and data cables run haphazardly across the bench and down into the space below it.

Chuck steps back from the master console to survey his handiwork, and allows himself the faintest smile of amusement at its intentional, magnificent overcomplexity. His stage is set.

He joins Sarah just as she presses the return key to transmit her completed intel report to a secure server, for Saldana to download later. Chuck leans over and gently sets his head on her shoulder.

_"D'you tell her everything you found out?"_ he whispers.

_"Didn't leave out thing one,"_ replies Sarah. _"Of course, who knows when she'll get around to reading it? Wherever she might be hiding at the moment, I'm sure she's been fully occupied watching you and scratching her head.”_

Chuck grins, stands up, and in a normal tone of voice says, “I really think they should’ve code-named this place 'Vacuum Tube' instead of Deep Skillet."

Sarah rises from her chair, yawns, and stretches. "Why do you say that?"

" _Vacuum Tube._ Get it…Hoover? Tunnel?" Chuck punctuates this with a playful shoulder-bump.

"Now, sweetie, that's just silly," Sarah responds, while bumping him back a bit more emphatically. "Top-secret government facilities aren't _supposed_ to have code names that actually _mean_ anything!"

_("Those two are both so irreverent," comments Saldana in her hiding place—as if jesting on the job is a curious new experience for her.)_

Chuck curls his right arm affectionately around Sarah's back—and with two fingers of his right hand, subtly taps out a countdown in Morse code on her forearm: _four...three...two...one...zero...zero..._

_Bzzzzap!_ — a quick flash of light from somewhere beneath the master console bench, followed by a puff of blue-grey smoke and a loud hum. The music in the room cuts off, replaced by a chirping alarm.

Chuck and Sarah look convincingly aghast.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Sarah asks. Chuck wheels around and dives for the master console. He flips off the power switch and the hum stops. He peers nervously under the bench.

Meanwhile, the four white-suited technicians have burst from their seats and are running toward the scene with fire extinguishers in hand. Saldana reappears in the side doorway.

_"Ay Dios mío_ —what the _hell_ just happened?" she asks.

"It's okay!" Chuck calls out. "You can kill the alarm. It's just a small electrical problem—a minor overload or short. I can take care of it. Nothing serious!"

He gestures to the technicians, who are standing in a confused cluster nearby, still clutching their extinguishers.

"If you guys _really_ want to be useful," Chuck tells them, "you can go around and start hooking up the rest of the peripherals. I'll need a little time to clean up here, but then we'll be about ready for the main event."

The techs fan out around the lab. One of them shuts off the alarm, and the loud music resumes. Saldana rolls her eyes and disappears back through the doorway.

"So let's see what the problem is," Chuck says. "And, Sarah—I could use your help. Would you please get the multimeter out of the case for me?"

Sarah goes over to the master console, a bit hesitantly. She fetches the multimeter: a khaki-green plastic device about the size and shape of a hand-held calculator, with a digital display and keypad on the front, and red and black wires extending out of it. Chuck is already on his back under the bench.

He looks up at Sarah as she bends toward him, and blows her a kiss. "Thanks, baby. Just hold the meter steady under the bench for me, so I can have both hands free to check the circuits. But be sure and keep your head above the bench, just in case there's another short." He winks at her.

"Chuck... _please_ be careful." Sarah's worried expression isn't faked this time. She reaches beneath the bench and holds the multimeter in place a few inches above his head. Chuck squeezes her wrist to reassure her. Then she turns her face up and away, for safety—but slides her ankle over against his outstretched leg, and hooks her foot underneath it so she can still hold on to him.

Chuck fishes in his shirt pocket for a small pair of wire cutters, and deftly snips away the short length of charred cable he had deliberately wired to cause a short-circuit. He clips the red and black leads from the multimeter to the cut ends, as if testing the current.

Then he quickly looks from side to side—to make sure that nobody other than Sarah is standing nearby—reaches up, and pops the front panel off the multimeter. His modified iPhone is concealed inside. Chuck reaches for the high-speed data cable he had installed first thing, and plugs it into the iPhone. Then he takes a deep breath—and flashes.

Chuck's thumbs pulse against the virtual keypad on the screen of his phone as he probes directly into the infected Deep Skillet computer system by means of the Key. Instantly afterward, his pupils dilate and fix on the screen as he gets his response from the system in the form of a four-second flurry of encoded images. The Intersect in his brain uploads the data. Then the iPhone screen goes blank, and Chuck lies there, dazed, for a few seconds.

_"Chuck! Are you all right?"_ whispers Sarah, while nudging his leg with her foot.

_"Huh? Oh yeah—yeah!"_ Chuck's entire body shivers, and he is back to full consciousness. He quickly disconnects the iPhone, snaps the front panel back on the multimeter, unclips the red and black wires, then gently takes the multimeter from Sarah's hand and slides out with it from beneath the bench.

"Everything's...repaired?" she asks him.

"And _then_ some," Chuck replies excitedly. "We are _so_ good to go."

Sarah looks at him with pride—and considerable relief.

As he places the multimeter back in the briefcase, Chuck detaches the red and black wires, removes what looks like a disk-shaped alkaline battery from a slot in the back of the device, and inserts a different battery. He looks around and confirms that the technicians have nearly finished plugging in all of the new monitors and keyboards.

"You can go call your boss," Chuck tells them.

He takes a thumb drive from his pocket and puts it down on the bench in front of the master console. A moment later, as Saldana returns to the lab, Chuck makes sure that she notices him paying elaborate attention to his signal-modifying setup: he switches the devices off and on again several times, and pretends to meticulously inspect all of the cables and their connections.

Bending down close enough to the apparatus to conceal his face, Chuck flashes. Then he straightens up and nods to Sarah. She pulls a chair out for him, and he sits down in front of the master console. Sarah takes a seat on his left side, and Saldana stations herself on the right with her arms folded, precisely observing Chuck's every move.

"Everybody ready?" Chuck asks—but without waiting for a response, he reaches for the keyboard, aims his eyes at the screen in front of him, and begins to enter a long, seemingly random string of characters into the computer.

"Activating the diagnostic program," Chuck says quietly.

Several lines of code appear on the screen—and nothing else happens, except for the steady blinking of the cursor.

"Malware deactivated. And this antiviral will scrub it out completely." Chuck picks up the thumb drive and bends down to insert it into the central processing unit, which hums softly for a moment—

—until, heralded by a soft _ping!_ sound, the logo of the Central Intelligence Agency and the words WELCOME TO DEEP SKILLET. SECURE LOGIN? appear on the screen. The _pings_ echo all around the cavernous lab as all of the other computers awaken, and the same logo pops up on all of the other monitors.

"And—we're _done!"_ Chuck exclaims, leaning over in his chair to receive a happy embrace from Sarah.

"Verify it," Saldana brusquely instructs her technicians. Each of them sits down at a different terminal and attempts to log into the system. They all get in right away, and after a few minutes of testing system functions, they all give Saldana the thumbs-up sign.

Chuck gets to his feet. Saldana seizes his hand and shakes it enthusiastically.

"Congratulations! _¡Bien hecho!_ That was truly well done!"

Then, with a knowing grin and a wink, she adds, "Of course...I am really not cognizant of how you _actually_ contrived to do this. But I think we will manage to get the secret out of you somehow... _no?"_

Sarah doesn't like the sound of that. She steps closer to Chuck.

"No— _you_ first, Juanita," she insists. "Why did you lie to us about the malware attack? We know it didn't come from the outside at all."

"Ah! Very good, Sarah," replies Saldana. "I suppose that I _will_ find your report to be interesting reading, after all. You are correct. The malware was already here—lying in wait for us—when the CIA took possession of this facility—"

"Took _possession?"_ Chuck blurts out. "You mean from DARPA?"

Saldana folds her arms and smiles. "No. From _Fulcrum."_

Chuck is stunned, and Sarah is confused, so Saldana continues her story.

"It took us two years to sweep out all of the booby traps that Fulcrum left behind. And _you_ have just taken care of the last and worst one. You have done the Agency a great service."

"We're happy to have done it," says Chuck sheepishly. "Assuming Carmichael Industries still gets paid, of course."

From behind them, unexpectedly, comes an authoritative male voice.

_"Of course you will, Mr. Bartowski. But there is so much work yet to be done."_

Startled, Chuck and Sarah whirl around to discover the Professor rolling toward them in his wheelchair. Sarah looks completely lost—but Chuck gasps in recognition.

_"Professor?_ Professor _Fleming!"_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but I hope it's okay with The Powers That Be that I borrow its universe for a little while longer.

**Sixth day, near dawn, in Deep Skillet**

On the heels of the revelations that had just rocked them, it comes as only a minor additional shock to Chuck and Sarah when Saldana dismisses her technicians from the lab without explanation, goes back into her side office, and returns with a chilled bottle of fine champagne and four glasses. She lays the glasses out on the conference table in the middle of the lab and waves to everyone to come join her there.

As Professor Fleming rolls up to the table, Saldana hands him the bottle. Jovially, he pops the cork and fills each glass nearly to the brim.

"Chuck! Sarah!" Fleming booms as he puts the bottle down and seizes a glass. "I hope I may address you this way—now please, let's all toast the resurrection of Deep Skillet!"

Without waiting for Sarah and Chuck to respond, Saldana thrusts glasses of champagne into their hands, then holds the last one high.

_"¡Salud!"_ She and Fleming drain their glasses. Chuck and Sarah look at them skeptically, and then take polite sips of the champagne.

"Professor—" Chuck begins.

"George! Call me George. Please. And have a seat. Relax and enjoy the moment!"

"Okay...George." Chuck holds a chair out for Sarah and then sits down. "We never learned what happened after the attempt on your life. It's great that you survived."

"Thank you," Fleming replies. "The good doctors saved me. But there were some complications during the surgery." He lifts his arms and looks down at his legs. "No matter—I persevere."

He turns toward Sarah and smiles pleasantly at her.

"I don't expect you would remember me, Sarah. We never had the opportunity to get acquainted—as I was quite skewered at the time!" Fleming laughs and slaps the armrests on his wheelchair.

"However," he continues in a more serious tone, "you should know that Chuck was a student of mine at Stanford. As was Bryce Larkin, whom I believe you knew—in fact, I recruited him for the CIA. And Juanita studied with me as well, not long after Chuck left Stanford—to my everlasting regret, it should be noted."

"So Chuck and I share a significant pedigree," adds Saldana. "Little wonder we are both such brilliant and attractive nerds, _no?"_ She pats Chuck on the arm.

"Nevertheless, Juanita dear," Sarah retorts, "there's a _big_ difference between you and my husband. You only _think_ you are the smartest person in the room."

"If I may proceed..." Fleming interjects, as Saldana rolls her eyes and Chuck grins. "My convalescence afforded me plenty of time to reflect and study. Having come to the realization that Chuck, Larkin, the CIA, and the crossbow assault were all interlinked somehow, I threw myself into researching the case."

He leans forward in his chair. "And I eventually learned that the true catalyst of Larkin's and my conspiracy to expel Chuck from Stanford was none other than his _father:_ the genius and former CIA engineer, Stephen Bartowski!"

"My dad did that to _protect_ me!" Chuck insists—clearly taken aback by this unexpected intrusion into his personal history. Sarah inobtrusively eases her chair closer to his, and rests a reassuring hand on his leg.

"Indeed he did!" Fleming concurs. "But _why?_ It was as if he had anticipated that my neuro-visualization tests would identify you as a prime candidate for the Omaha Project—even _before_ it all happened! How could he possibly know this?"

Chuck's entire body tenses, and Sarah looks ready to swat Fleming, as he goes on in the deep, steady voice of a practiced lecturer.

"So—next came intensive study of Stephen's papers and reports and scientific legacy. And also anything I could uncover about _you,_ Chuck—who, despite Larkin's and my best efforts, nevertheless landed in the employ of the CIA!"

Saldana leans forward in anticipation...

"Now, the Agency granted me access only to the less secure technical files—and they never saw fit to let me in on your secret. No matter. My analysis of your father's work inexorably led me to the truth."

Fleming pauses, smiles, and holds out a hand, palm up, toward Chuck.

"Which was, of course— _you,_ the Human Intersect!"

_"Was_ is the operative word," Chuck replies in a convincingly bored tone. "No longer. And the Intersect died with Quinn. I guess you haven't seen General Beckman's report."

"Beckman is in denial!" Saldana fires back. "As one would expect from an old friend and unabashed advocate of your team. But _I_ am certain that you two _never_ would have allowed Nicholas Quinn to have that final Intersect upload. Here—let me show you something."

Saldana casually reaches beneath the conference table behind her—and produces an iPhone. She swings it forward, aiming the screen point-blank at Chuck and Sarah.

Acting on pure instinct, Chuck cries _"No!"_ and throws his hand out in front of Sarah to shield her eyes, as she grimaces from remembered agony. But the iPhone remains dark, and after a moment Saldana withdraws it.

"Interesting," notes Saldana. "This is _my_ phone—but it seems you thought it was one of yours. Which could mean that yours was made Intersect-ready...and if so, for _whose_ use, exactly?"

"Bitch," mutters Sarah, shaking her head to compose herself. Fleming immediately rolls up in front of her, concerned that she might attack Saldana.

"I apologize for that little melodrama," he softly says. "Though it proved our point, I think. Be assured we mean you both no harm—I mean, what threat could _we_ possibly pose to the two of _you?_ Our true objective in all of this is mutually beneficial."

Neither Chuck nor Sarah looks mollified.

"No one outside of this room knows anything of this," says Saldana. "Your secret is safe."

Chuck takes a slow breath, then says, "All right, then...George. All the cards out on the table. This is why _we_ were picked for this job, I presume?"

"Yes," Fleming replies. "Juanita has been the CIA's point person on Deep Skillet ever since it was seized in the defeat of Fulcrum. Their BIOS worm was so intractable that the Agency was ready to abandon the base. So Juanita turned to me, her old mentor, for advice—and I realized this would be an excellent test of the capabilities of the third-generation Intersect."

"And the Professor and I also knew it would be too much of a challenge for a problem-solver as gifted as _you_ —Chuck—to resist," Saldana adds.

Chuck laughs hollowly. "After all these years, you finally figured out a way to give me that final exam I never took—huh, Professor?"

He turns to Sarah. "You nailed it, babe."

"Yeah—too bad," she says with a frown. "By now we'd be headed back to our honeymoon."

"So you've outed me," says Chuck to Fleming and Saldana. "Congratulations. What now?"

"Ah yes—what now!" Behind his wire-frames, Fleming's eyes are twinkling. "Chuck, I know that it was your father's intent all along—and sadly, his thwarted dream—that the technology underpinning the Intersect would someday be _readily available to everyone,_ as a means to enhance human learning and reasoning! And _I_ want to bring that dream to fruition...as does Juanita."

"But we cannot do this without _your_ help, Chuck," says Saldana as she rises from her seat. "And Sarah's of course—we need Carmichael Industries as our partner..."

Suddenly all sincerity, Saldana leans closer to Chuck, while Sarah shoots her the stink eye.

"You have demonstrated what a human Intersect is capable of doing," she avers. "Now you can show the rest of the world how to do the same."

"We already have state-of-the-art neuroengineering and cybertech labs ready at Stanford," Fleming says with hands clasped excitedly, "and several hundred million dollars in Silicon Valley venture capital on the table. All of this can be mobilized with one brief phone call."

"So you're saying you want to _commercialize_ the Intersect?" asks Chuck in dazed disbelief. "How would you be able to do that? I mean—even though it's mothballed, it's still classified government technology."

"So was the Global Positioning System, initially," Fleming quickly responds. "But today there's a GPS receiver in every smartphone and every new dashboard."

"And the ones who brought it to market are now worth billions," observes Sarah.

"Surely you find nothing wrong in _that,"_ Saldana counters. "You yourself are a businesswoman now."

"But the CIA and NSA would _never_ permit it," Chuck argues. "Especially not after Deep Skillet. Soon as they find out what happened here, the Intersect Project goes back online in a heartbeat. And I get a date with the suppression device. At best."

"What could you possibly be talking about?" asks Saldana sarcastically. "You used a _hardware_ solution to bring Deep Skillet back on line, did you not? That is all the CIA or NSA ever need know about what transpired down here. But rest assured that in my closing report I will praise the expertise of Carmichael Industries to the very stars!"

"Wow," Chuck says, his mouth agape in amazement. "Fixing Deep Skillet was your mission—but _we_ were the sub-mission all along, weren't we?"

"Deception was simply necessary for the plan to work," says Saldana matter-of-factly. "No malice toward the two of you was ever intended."

"Wow is right," adds Sarah. "There's being played—and then there's _really_ being played. You took it to another level, Juanita. Hate to admit it but I'm kind of impressed."

"Does that mean you're on board?" Fleming eagerly asks.

Sarah and Chuck nod at each other and get to their feet.

"We are so _not_ on board," Sarah says. "This doesn't smell right."

"Exactly. So thanks but no thanks...George," Chuck adds. "Now if you'll excuse us, we've got to go pack up our equipment. It's almost dawn."

"You're… _turning us down?"_ Saldana gasps. "Do you even _realize_ what you are passing up?"

"What about your father's dream?" pleads Fleming.

Chuck gives him a piercing look and says, "You don't know my Dad nearly as well as you think you do."

Then he and Sarah go to retrieve the tools they left around the area of the master console.

"But thanks for the champagne," Sarah jauntily tosses back over her shoulder. Saldana's jaws are set in frustration, but Fleming remains unruffled—at least outwardly.

"That's all right," he calls out to Chuck and Sarah in a friendly tone, as they walk away. "We just got off on the wrong foot tonight, that's all. You take some time and think about it! And when you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Fleming pivots his wheelchair around, looks up at Saldana, and nods almost imperceptibly.

"See what you can do—but don't overdo it," he quietly instructs her. Then he wheels himself away through the exit and out to the tunnel.

_"Así lo haré,"_ Saldana murmurs, and takes hold of her iPad.

* * *

**At about the same time, near Hoover Dam**

Morgan and Alex, still parked beside the highway, can discern the first faint glow of dawn on the eastern horizon—out beyond the rugged landscape and the floodlit dam complex in the near distance.

Alex leans casually against the front end of their Ford Expedition. Her coffee has gone cold, but she downs the last of it anyway, and stretches luxuriantly.

"It's almost that time," she notes, checking her watch.

"Yep," agrees Morgan, who is still sitting on the front bumper nursing his last cup. "Hopefully all went well down there tonight...which means that the weekend starts n—"

_VWOOOOOSHH! VWOOOOOSHH!_

They never heard them coming—but Morgan and Alex are suddenly battered by the pressure waves from two sleek jet-black helicopters flying very fast and scarily low, without any lights, right over their heads.

"What the _hell!"_ shouts Morgan, rubbing at the cold coffee splattered all over the front of his windbreaker.

"This does _not_ look good," Alex says, pointing to the trajectory of the helicopters: straight toward the dam.

"Let's roll!" Morgan jumps behind the wheel of the SUV and Alex bounds into the shotgun seat—and they go roaring down the four-lane, over the short downhill stretch to the turnoff for the visitor entrance to Hoover Dam.

"Dam's still closed!" Alex cries out. Although the gates are shut, a few tourist vehicles are idling just in front of the entrance in the faint light, waiting to get in—and precluding any possibility of rapid access by that route.

"Okay—then it's the bridge," Morgan says through gritted teeth. "Gotta get a clearer view!"

He guns the engine and presses on toward the approach to the high arched O'Callaghan Tillman Bypass Bridge. Just short of the abutment, he wrenches the wheel and yanks the Expedition all the way onto the shoulder—directly beneath a big red-and-white NO PARKING sign. Paying the sign no heed, Morgan and Alex jump out with binoculars in hand and run across the highway to the pedestrian walkway on the north side of the bridge.

In the wan dawn light they jog along the walkway, out over the jagged rocky abyss of the Colorado River gorge. Morgan feels his stomach dance as he peers down at the sweeping crest of the mighty dam nearly two hundred feet below them, and the black ribbon of water seven hundred feet farther below. A cool, faintly musty breeze wafts up from the depths.

Alex and Morgan pull up when they are halfway across, and lean on the railing to catch their breath. They can see only one other person on the bridge—a lone figure standing at the rail a few paces farther along toward the Arizona side, dressed in a dark hoodie and looking straight out into space. Morgan makes a mental note of that scene as Alex, looking very worried, passes him the binoculars.

"Oh _no_ —no, no, no," he groans as he focuses on the scene below. One of the black helicopters is perched alongside the Bureau of Reclamation chopper on the powerhouse roof, and a rifle-toting six-man tactical team in midnight-black body armor is already sprinting down the stairway into the building. The other helicopter is nowhere to be seen.

"We have to do something _now!"_ Alex insists. "How can we warn Chuck and Sarah?"

Morgan shakes his head. "They're still inside. Only one thing we _can_ do. It's not quite the time Chuck said to do it—but I've gotta make that call—right now!" He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out his iPhone.

"Where's the card Chuck gave you? Did you bring it?" Alex asks him frantically.

"No need. I programmed the number in my contact list." Morgan flicks the phone on and begins to thumb through the listings.

_"Hey! You two over there! Hold it!"_

Startled, Morgan freezes. He and Alex look back toward the Nevada end of the bridge and spot a beefy policeman sprinting intently toward them like a middle linebacker.

"Oh _man,_ not now," grumbles Morgan. "Probably wants to give us a parking ticket."

He goes back to searching through his contact list, locates the number he wanted, and presses the call key, just as the hard-charging officer reaches them.

_"Morgan! Look out!"_ Alex screams—because the big policeman _doesn't stop,_ but instead throws himself at Morgan and punches the iPhone out of his hand! Morgan crashes hard against the railing as his phone tumbles end-over-end through the air and vanishes from sight long before it hits the river.

"Geez...what...the..." Morgan gasps, bent over in pain. Alex moans softly, throws her arms around him from behind, and looks up defiantly at their attacker. The policeman—or whatever he is—puts a finger to his lips, then pulls his revolver and aims it at them.

"Hush now...just relax," he says. "Nobody needs to get shot. We're all going to stand right here and wait peaceably for a little while, until the folks down there take care of all their business. You _got_ that, shrimp? Unless you wanna go in after your phone!"

* * *

**Meanwhile, back down in Deep Skillet**

Chuck and Sarah carefully repack their tools in their carrying cases as Saldana lurks on the side, paying precise attention to their actions and to each piece they pick up. After they finish packing, Chuck turns to the master console and grandiosely sweeps his hand over the cobbled assemblage of electronic devices—his cybernetic decoy—still connected.

"You said these'll figure prominently in your _—ahem—_ report," he says to Saldana, "and the CIA already paid for them anyway, so I'll just leave them for you to deal with."

"Good. There is one other thing I am still curious about," she replies. "The Professor was not cleared to read General Beckman's report in its entirety, but I have the advantage of having studied it meticulously. I have an issue with it."

"Which would be…?" asks Sarah.

"Prior intel indicated that Quinn was on the verge of assembling the Key—I know you both are well aware of what _that_ is—before he went to the Pacific Concert Hall to deploy his bomb. But Beckman's report does not mention the Key at all. Curious."

"Maybe he was too busy cackling over his revenge to remember to tell her," Chuck suggests.

"Perhaps," Saldana says. "An alternative hypothesis is that the General had something that Quinn needed to complete the Key, and he came to take it from her. Rather embarrassing for her if that were the case."

As Saldana continues talking, Sarah slowly moves around to the side of the master console, so that she and Chuck can flank her on two sides.

"At any rate…much like that final Intersect upload, the Key apparently just… _vaporized_ when Sarah killed Quinn."

"That's all very interesting," Chuck interjects, "but what exactly is your point, Juanita?"

"That there is a _third_ hypothesis: Beckman redacted any reference to the Key because she was eager to be done with the Intersect Project—and she knew the Key was in good hands."

Saldana looks directly at Chuck and smiles—in a friendly way, without the usual smugness.

"Chuck, you and I have much the same expertise, and this is not coincidence. I think that you used the Key to hack into this CPU and optically decode the malware with the help of the Intersect."

Her eyes wander downward. "And I think you have the Key in your possession right at this moment— perhaps wired into that iPhone in your back pocket?"

"Back pocket?" Chuck snickers. "You'd better be _real_ careful where you're looking, what with my wife standing right next to you!"

"And _you_ should remember that you signed an agreement allowing us to search you at any time. Strip search if necessary. I could call in a few guards to enforce that—wife or no wife."

"You'd just get them all injured," Sarah retorts.

Saldana ignores her and holds her hand out expectantly to Chuck.

"Damn, baby, I think we're busted," Chuck says—but he is still subtly smiling. He takes the iPhone out of his pocket. "Pass me a pentalobe screwdriver from the kit, will you?"

"Of course, sweetie." Sarah fishes through the equipment case for the right screwdriver, and hands it to Chuck over the top of the master console. With practiced ease, Chuck opens the back of his iPhone and holds it out in front of Saldana.

"I don't see any Key in here," he says. "Do you?"

Irritated, Saldana grabs the phone out of his hand to examine the internal components more closely. Finding nothing, she huffs and puts it down on the bench. Chuck immediately snaps it up, replaces the cover, and puts it back in his pocket.

"I _need_ that! Hey—maybe Sarah's phone is the right one," he offers. "Toss me your iPhone, baby."

Sarah does so, and Chuck opens the back of her phone the same way as before. Meanwhile, Saldana moves closer to the bench, where the two equipment cases lay open, and glances down at them. Sarah sees what she is doing—but has no time to react before Saldana has reached into one of the cases and come out with the multimeter.

"Same thing," says Chuck, holding up Sarah's opened iPhone for inspection. "No Key in this one either. Guess that your hypothesis is shot—"

He stops in mid-sentence when he notices that Saldana has the multimeter.

_(Music: "Plastic Explosives," by Tim Jones)_

"The techs told me you went under the console with this," Saldana says triumphantly. "But you know…it feels rather unbalanced and heavy for a digital multimeter." She holds it up to one ear and shakes it.

"Be _careful_ with that!" cries Sarah. She holds out her hands in alarm. "Don't mess with it!"

"And why not?" Saldana runs her fingers around the sides of the device, feeling for concealed buttons or catches. _"¡Ah, bueno!"_ She locates the sliding switch that pops the front panel off, and looks inside. Her smug grin reappears.

"And you believed you would be _permitted_ to leave Deep Skillet with this?" Saldana asks incredulously, while reaching into the case to disengage the iPhone hidden inside.

"I wouldn't _do_ that," Chuck warns.

" _I_ would," Saldana retorts. "I would like to examine the real Key. To this point all I have ever seen are schematics." She tugs the iPhone free from its mooring with a sharp _snap._ It spontaneously switches on—and then, in its familiar robotic-female Siri voice, the iPhone announces:

" _Self-destruct function activated. Self-destruct in thirty seconds."_

"Told ya," says Chuck.

Saldana drops the iPhone on the bench as if it's searing hot, and takes a step back.

"You are bluffing," she insists. "There is _no way_ you could have smuggled any explosive materials into this facility. We have sniffers!"

" _Self-destruct in twenty-five seconds."_

Chuck holds out the pentalobe screwdriver and taunts, "You're welcome to test _that_ hypothesis too, Juanita!"

"Deactivate it! Now!"

"Can't," Chuck replies, visibly amused by Saldana's confusion as she hesitantly backs farther away from the threatening iPhone. Sarah comes around the console to rejoin him, puts a hand on his shoulder, and nudges him a couple of steps back too.

" _¡Muy loco!_ " Saldana yells at them. "Both of you— _muy loco_ …you're wildcards…"

"Guess we are all that," Sarah says, affectionately squeezing Chuck's shoulder.

"And a bag of chips," Chuck adds.

" _Self-destruct in ten seconds…Self-destruct in five seconds!...Four, three, two, one—goodbye."_

" _No!"_ cries Saldana, now standing a good distance away across the lab.

The iPhone begins to buzz loudly and vibrate violently. Then comes a dazzling blue-white electric arc and a cloud of black smoke, followed by the strong stench of melted plastic. The phone lies mute on the bench: its casing blackened and distorted, its screen shattered.

"Who said anything about explosives?" Chuck calmly asks. "You can do plenty of damage with just the right kind of battery."

" _¡Ay que la chingada!"_ Saldana swears vehemently. "You _wanted_ that to happen, didn't you! You _are_ a wildcard, Chuck—and as long as you possess the Intersect you cannot be allowed to simply run amok with it!"

"The government is welcome to take it back out _any time_ it wants to," Chuck says.

Saldana just sighs and shakes her head.

" _Sí, sí_ …but the reality is—we cannot. If it is stripped from you now, it will be lost. You are the only proven fully functional Human Intersect. This is precisely why the Professor and I need you to join us—to help us."

"To help you as a colleague…or as a _laboratory animal?"_ asks Sarah sharply.

"Ah, Sarah," replies Saldana, as she takes a sideways step over to a row of workstation cubicles. Her iPad is concealed inside the nearest cubicle. "We have our differences…but I can only admire your protective instincts."

Then she reaches around and seizes the iPad. Across the room, Sarah and Chuck tense.

"But your question is academic," Saldana continues, nestling the iPad comfortably in the crook of her left arm and tapping out a sequence of commands. "That is because the both of you are going to go into CIA detention until you come to see reason."

Immediately, Sarah assumes a fighting stance, and Chuck flashes on kung fu before doing the same. Then, with matching stony expressions, the Bartowskis start walking shoulder-to-shoulder toward the exit.

"We are leaving," says Chuck. "Don't get in our way."

Saldana laughs. "Before you even reach the tunnel, I think you are going to meet a CIA extraction team that is— _hah_ —in your way. However, in the interest of minimizing collateral damage…." She taps the iPad screen four times, and points up at the ceiling.

"… _say hello to my little friends."_

Four Noctuidors drop from the top of a light fixture and home in on Chuck and Sarah.

_(Music: "Insects," by Oingo Boingo)_

Chuck is confused. "What the— _moths?"_

" _No!"_ yells Sarah as she pulls Chuck with her toward the back of the lab, with the tiny craft in pursuit. "They're _nano-drones_ —you don't remember? If they land they tranq us!"

"Oh _geez!"_

As he and Sarah run—with little hope of staying ahead of the drone moths for more than a few seconds—Chuck glimpses the flattened corrugated boxes from the hardware shipment to Deep Skillet, stacked against the side wall. He tugs on Sarah's arm; she sees the boxes and instantly understands. They make a sharp right-angle turn into an aisle between parallel rows of consoles, and plunge full-out for the wall.

To Saldana, watching Sarah and Chuck through the camera eyes of the nano-drones as she pilots them with the iPad, the sudden move speaks of panic. She crows in triumph—and relief—expecting that the troublesome couple will be neutralized in just a few seconds….

" _Jump!"_ Sarah cries. Together, still arm-in-arm, the gymnastic former assassin-spy and the Intersect-enhanced engineer hurdle the final bank of consoles and tumble to the floor within reach of the stacked boxes. With one swift and graceful motion, Sarah slides a box out of the stack and flips it up in front of them both, just as—

_Tunk—thunk!_ Two Noctuidors hit the makeshift shield at full speed, drop, and roll backwards across the tile floor.

"Way to go, babe!" cheers Chuck as the two of them hunker down behind Sarah's shield.

"Call them off _now,_ Juanita!" Sarah yells. "Or we'll have to hurt you!"

"Jokers to the end, you are!" Saldana calls back. She manages to redirect the other two nano-drones before they crash into Sarah's shield. They loop around toward the ceiling and then dive straight for Chuck's and Sarah's heads, exposed in the narrow space between the shield and the wall.

But Chuck is already reaching out to yank a second flattened box out of the stack; he hoists it overhead and—

_Whump—whump!_ One of the diving drones bounces sideways and lands on the floor near its companions, but the other one embeds in the corrugated cardboard and is stuck, with its robotic moth wings fluttering uselessly.

For a second, Saldana futilely tries to free the stuck nano-drone. Then, swearing under her breath, she turns back to the three on the floor, which have automatically righted themselves and repositioned their wings. Saldana relaunches them and sends them back at Chuck and Sarah from the side.

"Can't hold out here too long," says Chuck anxiously. "Gotta get that iPad away from her!"

"You still got that screwdriver on you?" Sarah asks.

"Umm—yeah— _yeah, I do!"_ He presses it into her hand. "Go get 'er, babe."

"You'll have to cover me. Are you ready?"

He smooches the back of her head and says, "As ever."

Just as the first of the three Noctuidors zooms in from her blind side, Sarah drops her shield, gauges the distance to her target, and hurls the screwdriver at Saldana with all her might. At that same instant, the drone moth alights on her neck and Sarah screams for Chuck—and he's right there with Intersect-amped reflexes to slap the device off his wife and send it skidding far out into the middle of the lab.

The screwdriver pierces Saldana's right bicep. She _shrieks_ and drops the iPad. Instantly, the three active nano-drones retreat to the ceiling and the stuck one stops fluttering.

"At least I didn't _break_ it this time," Sarah coldly says. She starts running toward Saldana, who pulls the screwdriver out of her arm with another shrill cry of pain and drops it, then shakily bends to retrieve her iPad.

" _Don't,"_ growls Sarah. Saldana looks up, whimpers, then turns and runs to the exit, shouting for the guard at the door. She gets through and the big door slams shut just before Sarah reaches it.

"Damn!" Sarah scans the door for latches or deadbolts. "And Saldana probably wasn't bluffing about the tac team—we've got to lock it from this side and _quick!"_

"Already on it, babe." Chuck has Saldana's iPad and is swiftly flipping and searching through folders and windows on the desktop.

"Okay—sure hope this works." He taps the screen—and three heavy bolts slide down out of the doorframe to firmly secure the door. A few seconds later, the door starts to throb and vibrate from hard pounding on the other side.

"That's my geeky guy," Sarah sighs. She turns on her heels to seize Chuck in a jubilant embrace.

Chuck answers, "And _my_ ninja gal," and kisses her passionately—but briefly, given the urgency of their situation.

"How much time do you think you bought us?" asks Sarah.

"Not sure. It should take maybe ten, fifteen minutes to override my command. Longer if they have to cut the door open."

"What's our exit strategy?"

"Working on that," says Chuck. "There has to be another tunnel—they couldn't have brought in all those big boxes of peripherals through that narrow tube we've been taking in and out of here."

"But there are bound to be hidden alarms and barriers we don't know about," says Sarah.

"Yeah." Chuck looks thoughtfully down at the iPad. "All the intel we need is in _here_ —but it'll take time that we don't have to get at it the old-school way. There is an alternative, though."

Sarah nods. "You did save the real Key, didn't you?"

Grinning, Chuck fishes it out of his pocket. "Of course I did— _it's me!_ And by the way, your shell-game idea was brilliant, babe. Three Intersect-ready phones and one Key. Your Dad would be totally proud of you."

They rush back to their equipment boxes at the master console. Chuck finds a fresh pentalobe screwdriver and opens his iPhone.

"The Agency can have that other screwdriver, _"_ he wryly observes, as he plugs the Key into the socket he had previously prepared for it, then replaces the back cover. He sets the iPhone and Saldana's iPad side-by-side on the bench and activates them both.

"This'll be another first," Chuck says. "An Intersect upload via Bluetooth. It'll take a few extra seconds to complete but the outcome should still be the same. And baby—remember to turn your back."

"Wait a second." Sarah caresses his face and eyes him with concern. "All these data going into your brain—are you _sure_ you should be doing this? I mean, every storage device has its capacity."

"You know, you're _so_ hot when you talk nerdy to me," Chuck murmurs. "One more small upload's not going to be a problem. And when we're all through with Deep Skillet you've got an appointment with Ellie in Chicago, right? I can ask her to run some tests on me too."

Sarah takes a deep breath, reluctantly steps away from her husband, and turns her back as he bends down toward the iPhone and flashes on it. His fingers again do their lightning dance on the smartphone screen as his enhanced mind reaches out through the Key and the wireless link into the processor and memory of the iPad. The two devices exchange signals for five seconds, and then the Human Intersect receives his stream of encoded images.

When the upload stops, Chuck shakes his head and blinks—then straightens up, stuffs the iPhone back in his pocket, and gently puts a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"Smooth as silk, babe. Got the map in my head now. It's time to get the hell outta Dodge."

Sarah turns around with a sweet smile. "I love you."

"Love you too." Chuck points the way and they start running—into Saldana's back office, along a corridor past two-way mirrors and spy monitors, and out to the secret loading dock behind Deep Skillet. Their passage is blocked by a watertight door similar to the ones in the front entrance tunnel, but large enough to allow a semi-truck to pass through. Chuck finds a keypad next to the door and flashes on it.

"Okay," he says, "there are three doors like this between us and rest of the tunnel. They're supposed to open and close in sequence like an airlock, but there's a code to bypass that and open them all at once." He quickly types it in.

Hidden motors groan to life, and the huge door begins to creak and slide sideways—but painfully slowly. Sarah and Chuck stand right in front, breathing hard and tapping their feet impatiently, until the door moves barely enough for them to squeeze past it. The two doors ahead of them are also sliding open just as Chuck expected, and they zip past both of them as well.

Chuck and Sarah find themselves in the upstream end of the abandoned bypass tunnel. Unlike the tunnel leading from the powerhouse, this one is configured for vehicular traffic: a two-lane road and line of overhead lamps extends as far ahead of them as they can see.

"This leads out to the lakeshore, about two miles," Chuck tells Sarah. "Soon as we get outside we can call Morgan and Alex to find us." He is about to start jogging when she grabs his arm to stop him.

" _Listen,"_ she whispers _. "I think I hear vehicles coming this way."_

Chuck cups a hand to his ear, points it down the tunnel, and nods grimly.

"Must be another CIA tac team covering the back door." He looks intently down the tunnel. "Now I see the headlights. We can't go that way."

He holds still and flashes again, then gives a thumbs-up sign and leads Sarah a few meters farther, to a large grating in the tunnel wall. Cool, dry air is blowing out of the grating.

"All right," says Chuck. "This is going to be a bit tight but we can make it. Behind this is a ventilation duct running parallel to the tunnel. Every so often an air shaft breaks off from that duct and leads about six hundred feet straight up to the surface. Are we up for a little bit of crawling and climbing?"

" _Anything_ to get us out of this damned dungeon," Sarah replies. She produces a pocketknife with screwdriver blades and gets to work unfastening the grating. Then she and Chuck tug with all their strength until the old rusty fixture gives way.

They squeeze through the opening and pull the grating back in place behind them, then start crawling on all fours through the pitch-black ventilation duct, heading upwind, with Chuck in the lead. He takes out his iPhone and switches it into flashlight mode to help guide them.

"Chuck?" Sarah calls out after a few minutes of steady crawling.

"Yeah babe?"

"Am I remembering correctly that you and I spent a lot of missions doing this sort of thing?"

"That's right. But we've had it much worse than this. At least this one isn't full of—umm—sewage. First air shaft is coming up just ahead, by the way."

A few minutes more and they reach the shaft—just wide enough to pass through, with a ladder running up one side. Sarah and Chuck are heartened to see a tiny pinpoint of bright light far up at the top.

"We'll be back to our suite in time for a mimosa brunch," Chuck says in delight. He swings onto the ladder and extends a hand to help Sarah up.

But then—without any warning—the ventilation duct echoes with a series of loud metallic _clangs,_ which sound exactly like doors slamming shut all along its length. Then: a colder and moister gust of wind whistling in from the far end…and the unmistakable scent and sound of rushing water!

"Uh-oh," says Sarah.

" _That's_ not in the Deep Skillet database," adds Chuck nervously. "Something tells me that the CIA might've missed a few of those old Fulcrum booby-traps."

"Go! _Go!_ Climb!" Sarah cries, smacking the soles of his Chuck Taylors.

They ascend about a hundred feet before the water from the lake arrives beneath them, roiling headlong through the duct. Soon the duct is completely filled—and now the water begins to rise rapidly in the vertical shaft.

Chuck laughs fatalistically. "Good news is it'll be a quicker trip to the surface than we thought. Bad news is we might drown before we get there."

"Just keep going!" Sarah urges him.

They clear another fifty feet, but the rising water is quickly gaining on them. The noise intensifies and the walls of the air shaft begin to rattle.

"We can't outclimb it!" Chuck shouts, leaning out to look back down the shaft. "Oh boy, and that water's gonna be really, really cold too!"

"Chuck— _quick!"_ Sarah yells up at him. "Reach up above you and grab onto the ladder with both hands. Hold on as tight as you can and lean forward. Do it!"

Chuck grabs the ladder above his head and leans out, just as he is told.

"Good—now _listen!_ When the water hits—you let go and let it carry you up with your arms extended above your head. You _let go,_ you understand?"

"But what about _you,_ babe?" he asks her frantically.

Sarah's response is to gaze up at Chuck—with a look both intensely loving and fiercely determined—

—and then, she springs up off the ladder and flings herself against her husband. She coils her legs securely around Chuck's waist and wraps her arms tightly around his neck.

_"I_ will _never_ let go," she says, face-to-face with him.

The roar in the shaft becomes deafening as the water rushes up toward them.

"It's _not_ ending here, Sarah!" Chuck tries to sound as reassuring as he can, considering that he is shouting in her ear. "Not after what we've already been through! We're gonna make it… _right?"_

"Of course we are—now _shut up and kiss me!"_

Chuck and Sarah lock lips and close their eyes tightly, just as the frothing, icy water smashes into them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck—but it's fun to try and write as if I did.

**Sixth day, right before sunrise, atop the O'Callaghan-Tillman Bypass Bridge**

Held at gunpoint by an unidentified but violent operative masquerading as a policeman, high on the spectacular bridge above mighty Hoover Dam—deep beneath which, somewhere, Chuck and Sarah are in peril and depending on them for aid—Morgan and Alex are frightened, worried, and pissed off.

With Alex's help, Morgan gingerly gets to his feet after having been slammed against the bridge guardrail by their attacker. He takes a protective half-step in front of her, as they stand shakily at the railing. His eyes shift back and forth in frustration between the unfolding incident at the dam below and the revolver pointed directly at his midsection, while Alex wordlessly glares over Morgan's bruised shoulder at the bogus policeman.

"Listen," Morgan pleads, "I don't know who you think we are—but we're just tourists, man! All I was doing just now was checking us in on Facebook. I don't know why you—"

" _Shut up,_ shrimp!" their burly captor snarls, and aims the gun at Alex's forehead. "You talk too damn much. One more word and I'll do your girlfriend."

Grinning menacingly, he extends the weapon toward Alex as Morgan rises on his toes, attempting to shield her.

The bogus policeman starts to laugh at them both—but the sound morphs into a faint _"Huh?"_ as he inexplicably grabs at his neck. Then his jaw droops, his eyes glaze over, and he topples toward Morgan and Alex. Reacting quickly, Morgan grabs the man's revolver on its way down and nudges Alex out of the way as their captor pancakes face-down on the sidewalk—with three tiny darts in the back of his neck.

Standing behind him on the sidewalk is a shrouded female figure in a black UNLV hoodie—the one Morgan noticed earlier on the bridge—holding a tranq pistol. She slips the hood back to reveal herself: Mary Bartowski!

" _Mama B!_ Thank goodness!" cries Morgan. He looks down at the unconscious agent and nudges him with his foot. "Nighty-night, douche!"

"Morgan, you watch your language," says Mary firmly. "And I think you should let me have that gun."

"Oh, okay, sure…" Morgan hands her the revolver while Alex gives her a grateful hug. "How'd you know we were here anyway?"

"How did _you_ miss _me_ in the back of your truck?" Mary replies with a mischievous grin.

"Ummm…well…."

"Fantastic save, Mrs. Bartowski," Alex interjects. "Thanks! We were trying to call for help for Chuck and Sarah. Morgan had a number…"

Her voice trails off as she reaches frantically into the pocket of her jeans for her own iPhone, and all but throws it at her boyfriend.

"Morgan! You've got to find that number _right away_ —Google it or something _please!"_

He thumbs the screen. "Oh boy, let's see…Hey wait, I've got a _better_ idea! There's something else Chuck told me…" He opens Alex's address book and quickly zeroes in on a specific listing. Then he shows the screen to Alex so she can read the name: _Dad._

"That go to his satellite phone?" he asks her.

"Yes but what—?" Alex cuts her question off because Morgan is already calling the number. He shifts impatiently from one foot to the other while circuits click into place, directing his call who knows where…then finally a ring…and before the second ring, a familiar baritone voice comes on the line:

 _("Alex? Alex! Is that you? Are you all right?"_ Then—somewhere farther off, an explosion!…)

"Casey, it's me—Morgan. I'm borrowing Alex's phone."

(A burst of machine-gun fire…and then: _"Morgan? What the—where's Alex—is something wrong?")_

"She's fine, John. She's right here. We're in Vegas on a little vacation—"

" _Hi,_ Dad!" Alex yells over his shoulder at the phone.

_("Well that's terrific, numbnuts, but I'm a little busy—[KA-WHOOM!]—right about now!")_

"I kinda got that," Morgan replies, "but actually, it's Gertrude I need to talk to."

_("Whaaaa? What makes you think she's anywhere near here, you moron?")_

"Ahh! Casey, you just don't know how I've missed hearing you call me that! But come on, man—you've been gone almost a _week_ now! Couldn't have taken you that long to find her!"

(Casey grunts—it sounds like an affirmative grunt—and an instant later, Gertrude Verbanski is on the line, shouting over the roar of a rocket launcher. _"Grimes! What the hell do you want…?")_

Morgan winks at Alex and Mary and says, "I just need a phone number."

* * *

**A few minutes later, on the Nevada side of Hoover Dam**

The gates have just been opened for the day—and a few early-bird tourists are already strolling down from the parking garage to the glassed-in visitors center, and on from there to the roadway that runs along the top of the dam. The morning sun has yet to penetrate this far into the canyon, but the air is already warming very nicely.

As they make their way out to the dam, a few of the visitors stop to admire a pair of immense bronze winged statues on black granite pedestals, set dramatically in front of a high wall of red rock at the western portal to the dam itself. One of the tourists stoops to read the 1930s-era commemorative inscriptions on the pedestals, out loud to his companions. Then, without any warning, there is a low whooshing rumble beneath their feet, and the statues begin to vibrate.

Startled, the tourists fall back from the statues. But just as abruptly as they started, the rumble and shaking cease.

" _Earthkvake?"_ asks one in a thick accent.

"No, I don't think so," replies another. "I'm from California and that didn't really feel like a quake to me."

"Sorta sounded loike a big loo flushing," says a third tourist.

Their attention is drawn back to the statues when they hear a pounding noise coming from somewhere in back, followed by a metallic _creeeeeaaaaak_!—and then the tourists are even more amazed when…

_(Music: "Heroic Theme [from Chuck]," by Tim Jones)_

…a tall young man, dressed in normal business attire—but sopping wet from head to toe—pops up behind one of the pedestals. He immediately squats down with one arm extended to help a young woman emerge right behind him: a beautiful blonde in a print blouse and skirt, just as drenched as he is. They turn to each other, embrace, and kiss enthusiastically. Then the man takes the lady's hand and leads her out from behind the statues. And only then do they realize that they have an audience.

"Morning!" Chuck cries out, with a friendly wave. "Don't mind us—just went for a lil' swim in good ol' Lake Mead!"

"It's most refreshing," Sarah adds.

At first the tourists are too astonished to react—then, somebody notices how tightly Sarah's wet clothes are clinging to her, and all the cameras and phones come out.

But Chuck steps in front to shield his wife from the leering tourists, and the two of them hustle across the road toward the visitors center, laughing as Chuck's soaked sneakers squish and squeak on the concrete.

"Wow, that was _some_ ride—wasn't it, babe?" he asks her.

"Yeah…I suppose." Sarah looks with displeasure at her waterlogged clothing. "But if we were ever going to do something like _that_ again, I'd much rather it was in the shower."

They're about halfway to the visitors center entrance when sirens begin to wail all over the dam complex. Someone standing at the wall at the crest of the dam is yelling and pointing downward toward the river, and all of the other tourists in the area are running toward him, to find out what's happening. In the confusion, Chuck and Sarah slip into the visitors center, looking for refuge.

The scene inside the building is similar: everyone there is pressed against the tinted observation windows and making loud and nervous comments about something happening down below. Chuck and Sarah weave their way in far enough to see what it is: an enormous cascade of water bursting out of an opening in the canyon wall, just barely downstream of the dam and the powerhouse.

Chuck leans toward Sarah's ear and whispers, _"Guess all that water had to go somewhere."_

" _We need to get away from here now,"_ she replies in his ear.

Chuck takes his iPhone out of his pocket and grimaces. _"Totally soaked—useless. Morgan can't find us. Gotta figure out another way back to town."_

" _And here's more trouble,"_ Sarah murmurs, nodding over her shoulder. Three Bureau of Reclamation police officers have just come into the visitors center and are eyeing the agitated crowd of tourists nervously. Chuck and Sarah duck lower to conceal themselves.

" _They're bound to wonder why we're so wet,"_ whispers Chuck.

" _Yeah. Umm, unless…?"_ Sarah gestures upward with her eyes, to a fire sprinkler head in the ceiling about six feet above their heads. Chuck smiles and nods in assent. They scan their surroundings looking for a suitable weapon, until Sarah spots a ball-point pen sticking partway out of the back pants pocket of a pudgy middle-aged man, just within reach.

She takes a step forward—as if trying to push her way closer to the window—then pretends to stumble, and throws an arm around the back of the man with the pen to steady herself. He twists toward her in surprise and finds himself staring down the front of Sarah's wet blouse, as her hand swoops down behind him and seizes the pen.

"Ohhh—pardon _me_ sir," Sarah coos, palming her prize as a big-haired woman on the other side of her mark makes a nasty face and jerks him away.

" _Nice,"_ Chuck whispers.

Sarah smiles appreciatively and asks him, _"Care to tango?"_

Chuck grins. He waits for a little space to open in the milling crowd, then slips his right arm around Sarah's waist and starts to bend her backward as if they're doing the tango—but just far enough for her to get a clear shot at the sprinkler head. Sarah lets the ball-point pen fly, and it breaks the tiny glass trigger in the center of the sprinkler as Chuck swings his wife upright again. It all happens so fast that nobody around them realizes what they've done—until a generous spray of cold water pours down on all of the tourists in the vicinity.

As people scream and laugh and jump away from the sprinkler, Sarah has the presence of mind to pick up the pen and hand it back to its now thoroughly confused owner.

But then—someone shrieks, "Oh my _God!_ The Hoover Dam is _leaking all over!"_

"Oops," Sarah says. "Didn't expect _that_ reaction."

Then she and Chuck are dragged along as the moistened mob pushes for the exit doors—which are fortunately wide enough to let everyone through without anyone getting trampled. The Reclamation police officers, yelling at the tourists to calm down and slow down, are helplessly swept to either side.

Outside, the sirens are still wailing. As the crowd from the visitors center flees up the hill toward the parking garage and bus stop, other police officers are methodically evacuating the remaining tourists from the top of the dam. Sarah and Chuck reach the bus stop, and jog along a line of idling motor coaches until they find one labeled FREE CASINO SHUTTLE TO VEGAS STRIP and board it.

The bus is almost empty, and the Bartowskis take a pair of seats at the back. Then Chuck notices that Sarah, drenched to the bone and all out of adrenaline, is shivering. He returns to the front of the bus to ask the driver for a blanket. No such luck—but then he spies a discarded newspaper on one of the empty seats.

"Old trick from backyard camping with Morgan," he tells Sarah while blanketing her in newspaper from the knees up. "Sorry that it's not very stylish."

"Mmmm, works for me," she drowsily replies.

Then Chuck sits back down and holds his wife close to him, with both arms around her to keep the newspaper in place. Sarah sighs comfortably and rests her head on his chest. By the time the bus has filled with noisy hyped-up tourists and departed for Las Vegas, the two of them are sound asleep.

* * *

**Ninety minutes later, in the La Plata Linda Hotel**

In the private glass elevator, approaching the fifty-ninth floor, Sarah turns to Chuck and wrinkles her nose.

"Both of us smell like the river. I think we'll have to burn these clothes."

"I agree," says Chuck. "It's lucky that we have a plentiful supply of bathrobes to wear."

"Race you to the shower," Sarah replies, giving him a peck on the cheek.

But when the elevator doors open, they see that the door to the honeymoon suite is wide open, propped by a laundry cart. The concierge is standing in the hallway right in front, and very apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, Mister and Mizz Carmichael. Housekeeping came a little bit early this morning. But I think they're almost done in there."

"We'll encourage them to be quick about it," says Sarah, taking Chuck's arm as they step around the laundry cart and into their suite.

Two young women in immaculate white uniforms are making the bed, but instead of focusing on that task, they peer suspiciously at Sarah and Chuck as they walk by.

" _They're doing a terrible job,"_ Sarah whispers. _"Just look at those corners!"_

" _And the TV's on,"_ Chuck adds. _"Something's not right."_ Sarah's hand tightens on his arm as they move cautiously into the kitchen.

Another white-garbed housekeeper is sitting at the counter with her back turned to them, holding a coffee mug, and intently watching the frenzied local news coverage of the UNEXPLAINED ACCIDENTAL RELEASE AT HOOVER DAM on a widescreen TV high on the kitchen wall.

Sarah and Chuck freeze in their tracks at the same instant—when they both notice that the woman is raven-haired and has her right arm in a sling.

"Hello again… _Juanita,"_ Chuck says emphatically. "How's the wing doing?"

"We'd have thought you'd be busy with a mop and bucket somewhere other than here right about now," suggests Sarah.

Saldana laughs and shakes her head, then turns to face them. "Funny, Sarah! But the facility is undamaged. Our barriers did the job they were designed to do."

"Then I guess we can all feel relieved that our hard work wasn't for naught," Chuck says dryly.

"Why are you here, Juanita?" asks Sarah. "Surely not for another fight."

"That would be foolhardy," Saldana replies, looking dolefully at her wounded arm. "No—I have come for two reasons. One is to return the tools you left behind." She points with one foot toward the two C. I. briefcases, set on the floor beneath the kitchen counter.

"Thoughtful of you," mutters Chuck.

"And—Sarah," continues Saldana, "your pistol is inside one of these cases as well. Unloaded, of course. However, there _are_ two fully-loaded tranq guns pointed at you right now, held by my two assistants—both sharpshooters. So I encourage you to stay still."

Chuck turns his head just enough to confirm that the bogus housekeepers have a bead on the two of them. Sarah glances down the length of the kitchen counter, stealthily measuring the distance to a utensil drawer she knows is full of knives.

Saldana reaches across the counter, a little clumsily with her uninjured left arm, for the remote. She points it at the widescreen TV and changes the channel.

"My other reason for being here is to offer you a final chance to save yourselves," she adds.

" _Save_ ourselves?" Chuck asks. "What do you mean by that?"

Saldana tilts her head at the television screen. "Watch and you will see."

The TV is now showing a video recording of the winged statues next to Hoover Dam, taken by a camera somewhere above them—possibly from the roof of the visitors center. A rolling timestamp at the bottom of the video indicates that it was made a little more than two hours earlier.

While everyone else's attention is momentarily drawn to the screen, Sarah takes one small step closer to the utensil drawer.

Now the video shows the early-morning tourists standing around the statues, before staggering back in surprise as the ground shakes. Behind the statues—out of sight of the tourists but clearly visible to the camera—a rusty manhole cover flips up, a soaking-wet Chuck emerges, and he helps a similarly saturated Sarah climb out.

Though on edge and still unsure of Saldana's intent, Chuck and Sarah can't help but smile as they watch themselves kissing in celebration of their narrow escape from the flooded air shaft. At the moment when they have emerged from behind the statues and are about to run away from the gawking tourists toward the visitors center, Saldana pauses the video.

"Off the record," she says, "I sincerely apologize for your near-drowning. We had no idea that particular old Fulcrum defense system still remained. Though—of course—you never would have been in any danger at all, if only you had chosen t—"

"The _point,_ Juanita?" Sarah snaps at her.

"My goodness—how testy!" Saldana chuckles. "But understandable, given your travails over the last couple of hours. So I will spell it out. What _I_ see in this video are two domestic terrorists—once two of the CIA's best agents but now gone rogue—making their getaway after planting the explosive charges that triggered the underground flood."

"Say _what?"_ asks Chuck incredulously. "Who's _muy loco_ now?"

Ignoring him, Saldana continues, "And…only an uncharacteristic miscalculation on their part—or perhaps mere dumb luck—saved the hydroelectric power plant, and perhaps the dam itself, from far worse damage." She folds her arms and breaks into her signature smug grin.

"I'm sure you realize how ridiculous all of this sounds," Sarah says dismissively, as she takes another barely noticeable step toward the utensil drawer.

"Ridiculous to you, _sí._ But what matters is whether the _FBI_ thinks it is ridiculous." Saldana turns off the TV. "And…call me _loca_ if you choose—but I am confident that they will soon find plenty of evidence in support of that scenario."

"Unless…we cooperate with you and Fleming?" Sarah wearily asks.

" _¡Exacto!_ You catch on quickly for a Harvard woman," Saldana replies, winking at Chuck—who can only glower at her in angry frustration.

Suddenly—a loud clatter and thud, as the laundry cart comes rolling and bumping from the entranceway into the middle of the honeymoon suite, and the front door slams shut. Without thinking, Saldana's two lady sharpshooters turn toward the ruckus—giving an opening for Chuck to flash, and Sarah to dive for the utensil drawer.

Then Mary runs in, right behind the advancing laundry cart, with her tranq pistol in one hand and the revolver captured from the bogus policeman in the other. She slides underneath the line of fire of the sharpshooters and somersaults into the kitchen, coming up in a squatting position and tossing the tranq pistol to Chuck.

Just that quickly, the two CIA sharpshooters find themselves targeted by Mary with the revolver, Chuck with the tranq pistol, and Sarah with a knife in each hand!

" _Drop your weapons!"_ Chuck barks at the two agents. _"Now!"_ Thoroughly abashed, they place their tranq pistols on the floor and kick them over toward Mary.

Chuck exhales deeply and turns toward Saldana, expecting her to look downcast and beaten. Instead, she has her iPhone in hand and is grinning as assuredly as ever.

"I was mistaken to think we might all depart here peacefully," she says. "No matter. I have learned that in dealing with you, I need a few extra cards in the deck. My tactical team has been in the air close by all this time. I just called them in—they will be on the roof immediately above us in two minutes or less."

Sarah looks urgently at Chuck—asking with her eyes: _Do we fight? or run?_ But before he can decide what to do—

 _Bang!_ The front door to the suite flies open once again.

"Perhaps even sooner," Saldana adds—but she looks confused.

" _Nobody shoot us, please! We're unarmed! We're coming in!"_

Saldana silently mouths _¿Qué?—_ while Sarah rolls her eyes and Chuck slaps his palm to his forehead.

"It's clear…Morgan!" he shouts in the direction of the entranceway—then adds, under his voice, "For the moment anyway."

"I _did_ it, buddy!" Morgan is yelling, as he bounds into the kitchen breathing hard and waving a white handkerchief. "I did it—I made the call—he's here with me right _now!"_

Enter Alex, with a no-nonsense expression reminiscent of her father, and another tranq pistol. Right behind her follows a distinguished-looking, sun-bronzed man in his late forties or early fifties, with precisely trimmed dark-brown hair, mustache, and goatee; in a sharp royal-blue suit and red tie with Marine Corps logos. He goes straight over to Chuck, who breaks out in a thousand-watt grin as they shake hands.

"Splendid to see you again, Mr. and Ms. Carmichael," says the man, nodding respectfully to Sarah across the kitchen. Then he turns to Saldana and hands her a business card.

"Special Agent Saldana, I presume. My name is Julio Johnson—I'm an attorney."

Saldana's eyes go as wide as the Deep Skillet tunnels as she reads the card:

ALIAS SMITH, JONES, & JOHNSON, PARTNERS, LLC

_Prudent Legal Representation For The Clandestine Community_

"My firm represents Carmichael Industries," Johnson continues. "I was summoned by Mr. Grimes because there seems to be a problem with closing out the cyber-incident response project you contracted."

"Damn _right_ there's a problem," says Chuck, stabbing an accusing finger at Saldana. "We did the job—fully to specs—but now, the CIA wants to detain us because of what we know."

"Hmm…that's irregular to say the least," Johnson muses, as he pulls an iPad out from beneath his jacket and opens the case files for a quick inspection.

Meanwhile, Sarah—still holding the knives—sidles over to Chuck.

" _I remember this guy!"_ she whispers excitedly in his ear. _"I drew up the retainer agreement!"_

" _Yeah—and right now I'm really really glad you did, baby."_

Johnson looks up from the iPad and tells Saldana, "There is nothing included by either party to this agreement that would allow the CIA to detain our clients—even temporarily."

"Then I…am changing the terms of the agreement," Saldana huffs.

Johnson shakes his head. "You can't do that, madam."

Saldana laughs at him and gestures toward the door. "I and my tactical team can, and will."

"Aren't they a little overdue at this point?" Sarah asks.

The attorney calmly puts his iPad down on the kitchen counter and takes an iPhone out of his jacket pocket.

"Suit yourself, Agent Saldana. I will not waste time arguing with you. My clients are quite clearly exhausted and uncomfortable and no doubt feeling somewhat harassed by your threats. A quick call to General Beckman should settle this right away." He thumbs the keypad once and brings the phone up to his ear.

"You have her on _speed dial?"_ asks Chuck with awe.

" _Wait!"_ cries Saldana, leaping up at Johnson and tugging on his arm in a pathetic attempt to get the phone away from him. "That will not be necessary! Let's talk!"

Johnson nods, cancels the call, and points toward Chuck and Sarah. "Talk to my clients."

" _Sí, sí_ …all right then, what is it you want?" Saldana grumbles through clenched teeth.

"Simple enough," Chuck answers. He starts counting off on his fingers: "No tac team. No detention. No FBI. No further contact with or harassment of my employees or our family. And remit the balance of our payment promptly upon receipt of the invoice."

Johnson waves his iPhone, putting a silent exclamation point on Chuck's demands.

"Understood," says Saldana meekly. "And I will personally make sure of it."

"Settled," Sarah adds. "Then I'll see you and your two associates out to the elevator, Juanita dear. Meaning _now."_

Chuck shakes Johnson's hand once more. "Couldn't have timed it better, sir. Thanks for getting out here so fast…from L.A., was it?"

"Correct," the attorney replies with a friendly smile. "And no problem. It's all billable hours."

Out in the foyer, when the doors to the elevator open, Sarah is surprised to find that it already carries a passenger coming down from the roof: Steve Rosen, the head of casino security.

"Well, good morning, Mr. Rosen," Sarah calls out cheerfully. "What brings you up this way so early?"

"Morning, Ms. Carmichael. You'd think I'd have seen everything that could possibly happen on this property after nine years—but _noooo!_ Would you believe somebody just tried to land an _entire black ops team_ on the roof?"

"My goodness!" Sarah exclaims, subtly nudging Saldana with her elbow. "That's just _crazy!"_

"Isn't it now," Rosen agrees, winking at Sarah. "But nobody lands on _my_ roof without filing a flight plan— _nobody!"_ He pats the front of his jacket, and something slender and metallic underneath makes a solid clinking sound. Then he steps to the side to let Saldana—grim-faced and muttering unintelligibly—get into the elevator with her two sharpshooters. Rosen scrutinizes the three of them with obvious disapproval.

"You don't look like regular housekeeping staff," he says.

"We quit," Saldana retorts.

Just before the doors close, Rosen leans out and asks Sarah, "You and your husband are still on for lunch today, I hope? Really would like to talk some business with you."

Sarah gives him a thumbs-up sign, then whirls around and flies back into the honeymoon suite—and into the open arms of Chuck, who is waiting for her just inside the door. Alex discreetly shoos the rest of Team Carmichael and attorney Johnson toward the kitchen, to hunt up some champagne. On the way there, Morgan pulls Johnson aside and asks him, "By the way—can you do something about a parking ticket?"

After a reasonable interval of wildly passionate kissing, Chuck lifts his head back just enough to look deep into Sarah's gleaming eyes, and says—

"You know, babe—I always thought it was mostly hype—but maybe it's true after all, about what happens in Vegas…."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. And though it's been fun to write an imaginary Season 6 opener, I would have preferred to watch a real one instead.

_What happened in Vegas?_ Chuck and Sarah rebooted their love story the same way it started: by sharing adventures and facing danger together. They thwarted new adversaries with a little help from their faithful family and friends. Sarah found some of her memories and Chuck found a whole new use for the Intersect. Carmichael Industries got back in business by fixing something nobody else could. All that, and even a little sexy time for our favorite power couple in Sin City! … _What's next?_

**(EPILOGUE)**

**Sixth day, evening, in Deep Skillet**

Professor Fleming wheels himself into a secret laboratory that's been profoundly changed in just a few hours. Deep Skillet is abuzz with productivity: an analyst working at every terminal and a corps of technicians circulating and fine-tuning the computer systems. The overhead screens variously flash detailed live maps of trouble spots around the globe, high-resolution satellite imagery, and classified video logs of CIA drone attacks and on-the-ground paramilitary missions. In the midst of it all, moving from station to station, iPad under her good arm, looking proud and stressed at the same time, is Special Agent Juanita Saldana.

Saldana catches sight of Fleming, and her face falls. She meekly nods toward her private office and he follows her there. Once inside, she closes the door, pulls her desk chair out, and sits down backwards, leaning forward on the back of her chair, steeling herself for a tongue-lashing from her mentor.

But Fleming gives her a gentle smile instead. "I hear the Agency is giving you an official commendation, my dear," he begins. _"¡Felicidades!"_

" _Gracias,"_ Saldana replies. "My superiors at Langley were pleased to finally have this facility on line."

"Yes, and I know some thought your use of Carmichael Industries was chancy—but you proved them all wrong. Only you and I need concern ourselves with the rest of the story."

Saldana looks down at the floor. "Professor, I—

"Hush." Fleming pats her on the knee. "Juanita, you are one of the two best students I have ever taught at Stanford. But clearly you are much more adept at handling high-tech weaponry than high-value human assets. No matter. This is a setback, but our benefactors are very patient people."

"How should we proceed?" she asks him.

"Wait and watch—watch closely," replies Fleming. "I think Chuck will try to outflank us by reconfiguring the Intersect software as open-source, then disseminating it as widely as possible through the hacker community. He would see that as the most noble course of action."

"But what about the wetware? None of that would work unless the uploads could be rendered safe enough for anyone to— _ah!"_ Saldana snaps her fingers. "His _sister!"_

"My thought as well. With her collaboration and with enough resources, his little firm just might pull it off. So I think we should give him some rope—and if he shows any signs of imminent success, then we reel him right back in."

"Having already done half of _our_ work for us!"

"Precisely. The first thing you must do is pay your bill."

"Already taken care of," Saldana says, affectionately patting her iPad.

"Then I will be on my way, as I have a flight back to San José in two hours. Keep a good watch on them, Juanita. And do be careful," he adds, pointing to her injured right arm. Then Fleming takes Saldana's left hand, kisses it gallantly, and departs.

"Most assuredly I will," she answers—after Fleming has left. She opens a new window on her iPad: a high-resolution live satellite image of metropolitan Las Vegas. Out in the far northwest suburbs on the edge of the desert, at the location of a popular family restaurant on the corner of two back streets, a single green dot—labeled BARTOWSKI, C—is blinking brightly.

* * *

**Over the course of a fine evening in that very same friendly family restaurant in northwest Vegas…**

_(Music: "Together Forever in Love," by Go Sailor)_

Sarah, Ellie, and Mary sit at one end of a long table laden with hors d'oeuvre trays, bowls of chips and dip, and platters of fist-sized barbecued chicken wings. Sarah is gently bouncing her little brunette niece Clara Woodcomb on her knee, while Clara fiddles happily with a pair of pink fuzzy dice, and all three ladies laugh heartily at her antics.

Courtesy of Carmichael Industries, they're in a private room at the back of the restaurant, away from the noisy crowd of regular customers out front.

"How long are you staying?" Ellie asks Sarah.

"Two or three more days I think," Sarah replies. "We're going to— _oopsie!"_ Clara has just dropped her fuzzy dice on the floor. Ellie bends down to retrieve them, and meticulously wipes them down with a napkin before presenting them back to her excited little daughter.

"Anyway," continues Sarah, as she tickles Clara with her pinky finger, "Chuck and I already have another project lined up—with the casino—and this'll give us a chance to enjoy the rest of this honeymoon with way fewer interruptions."

"That sounds _wonderful,"_ Ellie says, enviously. "And so much better than the seventeen-hundred-mile drive _we_ have waiting for us starting tomorrow! But at least that storm in Utah moved on while we were here."

"It was lucky for us that you came," says Sarah quietly. "We owe you both plenty."

" _Feh!"_ Mary exclaims, waving her hand. "We're all family and this is what we do."

"I'll try not to forget that," Sarah remarks—and they all start laughing again.

* * *

In an adjacent quiet hallway leading to the restrooms, Chuck stands with his face toward the wall, staring blankly at a faded National Finals Rodeo poster, and looking just a bit sheepish as his brother-in-law Devon Woodcomb pulls his shirt collar away from his neck and peers down his back.

"Hmm, yes—I see the welt," Devon says in his deep serious-doctor voice. "Is it bothering you?"

"Not so much any more," Chuck replies. "But it doesn't seem to want to go away."

"Looks to me like an allergic reaction," Devon adds, and puts Chuck's shirt back in place. "Like what you might sometimes get from a tetanus shot or a flu shot."

"Or…perhaps a _tranq needle?"_

"I'm not so familiar with the long-term effects of those—but maybe. Maybe. If it's not itching any more, that's probably a good sign. If it's still there when you get back to Echo Park, you should go see a dermatologist. I'll text you the name of a good one."

"Sounds like a plan," Chuck avers, patting Devon on the back. "And thanks. Hey—buy you another beer?" He points to the lively bar in the front of the place, where Alex and Morgan have just gone to get their own drinks refilled.

"You bet! Sounds awesome, bro!"

* * *

A little later, Chuck goes over to join the three Bartowski ladies. Clara is sitting on Mary's lap now, but all three women are fussing equally over her.

"They'll be bringing out dinner in a moment," he tells them. "Just so you know."

"About time," says Sarah eagerly. "I'm _starving!"_

Chuck, standing directly behind his seated wife, puts his hands on her shoulders and gently massages them. Sarah smiles and brings her right hand up to squeeze his left, while cocking her head to look up at him. They gaze at each other for a moment—and then Chuck abruptly recalls that he's there on a mission.

He reaches into his pocket, takes out the Key—again sealed tightly in a plastic sleeve—and carefully places it in Ellie's hand.

"Here you go," he tells her. "It got a little damp, but it's as good as new. As soon as I get back home, I'll make you a half-dozen more just like it."

"And Saldana believes this was destroyed?" asks Ellie.

"Can't ever be totally sure with her, but we think so," Sarah replies.

"Did you ever contact General Beckman?"

"They can't," interjects Mary. "That attorney was just bluffing Saldana. If Beckman were to find out about Chuck— _officially,_ that is—she'd be compelled to have the Intersect removed from him. Whether she really wanted to or not."

"So it's stalemate with Team Fleming," Chuck says. "And an arms race of sorts. That's why it's so important, Sis, that we get to work on this right away."

Ellie studies the Key in her hand and sighs heavily.

"I…um, needed to talk with you about that, Chuck. Research like this takes money. _Serious_ money. And I don't see any way I could write a grant proposal for this kind of work—at least not without bringing the CIA and NSA right down on us."

At that, Sarah perks up and pats her husband's hand, still resting on her shoulder.

"Chuck and I have already got that figured out," she says excitedly. _"Carmichael Industries_ is going to fund your research, Ellie. Half the profits from every job of ours here on out will go to you."

"Starting with a big chunk of the handsome sum Special Agent Saldana transferred to us this very afternoon!" Chuck adds—as Ellie's mouth opens in surprise and tears appear in the corners of her eyes.

" _Hey you guys!"_ Morgan interrupts from across the room. "Let's eat!"

* * *

Some time well after dinner ends, as most of the family lingers around the table sharing favorite old stories and bellowing in laughter, Chuck and Sarah borrow Clara from her mom and dad and bring her over to the quiet side of the room.

_(Music: "A Question and an Answer," by Tim Jones)_

Clara, still wide awake, sits in Chuck's lap and giggles delightedly at her uncle as he plays peek-a-boo with her. Sarah has her arm around him, and alternates between watching Clara and planting little kisses on Chuck's face.

"I think," Sarah says, softly, after a while, "the way you're so at ease with her, the way that it's making _me_ feel right now—you and I must have already been talking about having a baby of our own…about starting a family. Am I right?" She nuzzles his neck.

"Funny you should ask," replies Chuck. "You just reminded me that I found something in my briefcase this afternoon I wanted to show you. Here—take the package for a moment."

Chuck gingerly passes Clara to Sarah, who cradles her in both arms as her husband removes a tightly folded piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolds it in front of Sarah as she looks on with avid curiosity. It's a simple sketch, hand-drawn on top of an illustration torn out of a magazine—a _Japanese_ magazine, from the looks of the printed characters at the bottom of the page….

"Remember _this?"_ Chuck asks Sarah as he holds it out for her to see.

_(Closing credits and Chuck titles theme, by Tim Jones)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it (and, if you did, kudos are always appreciated!)
> 
> This imaginary Season 6 of "Chuck" continues with the next episode: "Chuck Versus the C G I"— also posted on AO3!


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